


In the Shadow of the Citadel

by ilikeyoshi



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, WotLK Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilikeyoshi/pseuds/ilikeyoshi
Summary: Relihn Undergallows had always struggled with gold. The son of a penniless lineage, he had to scrape for every coin within arms' length.Luckily, he was also resilient. He could take a hit—and he had taken many in his life. The Argent Tournament was a good place to hit and be hit, and if he could do less of the latter and more of the former, he could make enough gold to buy up a hole in Dalaran and maybe finally earn some peace.Unfortunately, between catching the eye of a sin'dorei viscountess' son, the rise of the Scourge crisis, and a niggling case of the feelings, Relihn finds anything BUT peace.Raein'idal Loranore Embereye is beautiful, fascinated—and engaged. But despite a whole world of difference between them, circumstances draw them to one another, and in Icecrown's darkest hours, they may just light a spark.
Relationships: Original Character/Original Character, Original Male Character/Original Non-Binary Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: World of Warcraft OCs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragonjawbones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonjawbones/gifts).



> actually important things to note: i'm leaving the rating as T for now, but i might bump it up to M later just to be safe. mostly because these two like to get 'carried away' and i haven't decided how much i'm going to allude to it yet.
> 
> okay now the rambling:
> 
> what's up it's been like 4 years or something but i'm back with me n my friends' warcraft ocs. old projects? i don't know her. (i do and i miss them very much and if the stars align and my various mental illnesses and life schedule debacles ever allow for it i will definitely maybe finish them. especially The Big One. it is very dear to me.)
> 
> mostly i just miss the FEEL of posting large projects to ao3. good look, good format, good eyeball feelings. so i thought, since i've been writing about 12k words of an oc/oc au (as in, this isn't canonically how these ocs met, but it's a fun pet project to work on every 3 months or so), it'd be nice if i could neatly organize it somewhere.
> 
> like, an ao3 series! wowee that sure is convenient.
> 
> SO YUP. this story centers on my blood elf paladin, raein, (who is maybe not a paladin in this au, or maybe he is, maybe you'll just have to read it,) and my friend lambylin's blood elf warrior, relihn! we have been rping them for like. four years? i think it has been over four years. a long time! so long, in fact, that we have to make up aus about them now to keep things spicy.
> 
> and then this one just stuck real hard in my head so now it's a pet project i use to keep my writing hands from wilting! hooray.
> 
> catch me on tumblr as @ilikeyoshi, and lamby as @lambylin!

A burst of snow. The frightened cry of a stallion. Thunderous applause at every side.  
  
This was the sort of scene that played out in the Argent Tournament's jousting rings every day. Noble hearts from all over the world were encouraged to compete, to train, and if they were good enough, to fight.  
  
Relihn had done his time playing soldier. From his teens, in the wake of Quel'Thalas' fall to the Scourge, he had picked up his most finely-smithed blade and run it through foe after foe. A tabard of black and gold followed his every move once, the eyes of the Scryers picking out his next targets, of whose heads he would return for their favor.  
  
But it cost him much. His face bore a deep scar through the bridge of his nose, and his body was bent and molded to war's will. He was strong, and he was resilient,  
  
but deep down, he didn't want to need to be.  
  
A horn blew across the ring. Relihn's long, dark ears pitched forward in attention, blue-green eyes cast into the arena as a trollish man limped out of its perimeter, holding his gut. His body was caked in a layer of snow, telling a humiliating story of his defeat in the ring as the kaldorei behind him had his hand raised skyward by a human Crusader. The cheers abound the ring were heavy with the accents of the Alliance races.  
  
Relihn adjusted his breastplate, and settled a helmet upon his head. As he did, the kaldorei was ushered out to collect his reward, and the human Crusader yelled boldly over the howl of Icecrown's merciless winds.  
  
“Our next match-up is one most stone-hard!" the man bellowed. His arm shot out to his right, directed at the stall Relihn waited inside of. “First, a blood elf hailing from the summer-set islands of Quel'Thalas! An honored soldier of Shattrath City's Scryers, seeking to prove himself noble enough to fight the Scourge under the Horde's banner: Relihn Undergallows!"  
  
The deep roar of applause was definitely, predominantly the voices of the Horde.  
  
Relihn harrumphed. Getting tangled up in the Faction Conflict was far from an ideal result of his trials here, but if that was what it was going to take to dig himself out of wars forever, well, he already endured one insufferable organization. The Horde had embraced the sin'dorei when the Alliance left them for dead. Relihn did not hold much in the way of solidarity with such elves, but he did understand he had better odds appealing to the representatives here waving Silvermoon's banners.  
  
He didn't like it one bit, though.  
  
“All right, Athala." Relihn gave the horse he was saddled upon a hard, friendly pat on the neck, to which the beast grumbled something cranky but attentive. “Let's skewer some Alliance punks."  
  
“And Undergallows' opponent!" the Crusader continued to shout. “From the tundra of Dun Morogh, once a royal guard aspirant to the great King Bronzebeard himself: the dwarf, Brudadam Stonehedge!"  
  
Relihn's ears pivoted forward again, this time to the sound of a wailing ram's battle cry. The gates on his stall and the one directly across the arena both opened, and Relihn nudged Athala gently in the hip, prompting her forwards.  
  
As she marched through the dirt and scarce snow missed from persistent cleaning crews, Relihn got his first look at his newest challenge. A stout dwarven man, a beard of bright, fiery red spilling through the slots and holes in his ram-horned helmet. He was like Relihn: his mount did not bear any emblem on the saddle blanket draped across its back, for neither he nor Relihn were sponsored by any ambassadors here on the Tournament Grounds.  
  
If Relihn won, he hoped that would soon change.  
  
As was customary, Relihn and the dwarf walked their mounts to the center of the ring. There they paused, with the opportunity to look one another over. The dwarf was well armored, and heavily centered on his ram. He wouldn't be an easy opponent to dismount.  
  
Relihn, in truth, was terrified. Every moment of it scared him, but the ends would justify the means. If he fought now, one day he wouldn't have to. This dwarf wasn't about to stand in his way.  
  
At the Crusader's command, the two men passed each other, moving to opposite sides of the ring and facing one another again. The Crusader stepped back, a small gnomish contraption in his hand.  
  
He pulled the trigger, and a red flare whistled into the sky. “CHARGE!"  
  
Athala was a force of nature. From the moment Relihn met and was almost trampled alive by her in the Outland, she had never let a single thing dissuade her. She leapt straight into a gallop, the lance in Relihn's hand coming straight down to hold flush with her flank.  
  
The dwarf let out a spitty battle shout, his ram charging just as fiercely. The first pass of their lances screeched, steel to steel, both steeds unbalanced slightly as the weapons tore away from one another. With Relihn's direction, Athala pivoted around, dashing back in as bellowed cheers deafened the ring around both jousters.  
  
Their lances met again, and this time, so did the armored shoulders of horse and ram. The dwarf swore as his mount veered away, Relihn gritting his teeth and hurrying to turn back and catch the two of them off-guard.  
  
His lance came slamming through the dwarf's defenses, striking true in his stout midsection. His cry of pain was strangled to chokes at the sheer force; as Athala passed, the dwarf was wrenched off his mount and thrown to the snow.  
  
Relihn veered around again, just in time to watch the ram dash into three Crusaders set on calming it. He saw the dwarf vaguely stirring, but heard nothing over the piercing cheers of the crowds.  
  
It was cacophonous; it set his nerves on end. There was a grip on his arm, unexpected; Relihn wrenched away, realizing only after that it was the human Crusader. The man looked briefly dazed, but threw a lone fist in the air, his eyes set on the audience around them.  
  
“The victor: Undergallows!"  
  
Another guttural roar of applause. Relihn could feel his heart pounding in his head; the moment he was allowed, he and Athala shambled out of sight.  
  
Out of the ring, he dismounted quickly, shrugging Athala off to the nearest stable hand while he sought out someplace—else. Anywhere else.  
  
A massive structure sat in the center of the Tournament Grounds, long barracks sprawling in four directions with a massive, walled arena in the middle. Several archways cut through the walls, offering a small solace from the biting winds.  
  
Relihn ducked into one such archway, sighing harshly as he shoved himself between two wood-and-stone pillars, rafters crossing above his head. He shivered, crossing his arms as he let the pounding in his head soften.  
  
Belatedly, he realized his mistake: he should have waited out at the ring, in case some sponsor took interest in him. Yet he couldn't make himself step out just yet. The frenzy of battle still throbbed throughout him: war cackled hauntingly from every side.  
  
He had to keep fighting. He had to be strong.  
  
He could only allow himself a few moments of respite. Then he stepped back into the cold, ready to numb his alert paranoia with a big, incapacitating meal. He did not remove even his helmet as he made for the food stalls, digging with some struggle until he could fish out a woefully light coin purse.  
  
With a hearty, meat-heavy meal sure to knock him out cold, Relihn again sought somewhere a little less noisy to eat. His entire body ached at the idea, but... hanging out near the Sunreavers' tent was probably a good idea. In case someone from the match spotted him.  
  
He took a shortcut through another archway, passing into the Alliance's territory first. Not his brightest idea, but Relihn cared little for jeers and the like. They could do their worst, for all it mattered to him; he'd endured similar a thousand times before.  
  
What really made it a poor idea, however, was when a suit of gold metal and violet crystal passed into his line of sight. Relihn's blood froze, his vision blurred into just a small pinprick of clarity, focused on the large, towering draenei man that walked in his direction.  
  
Suddenly, Relihn did not feel strong. He veered his heels in the snow and broke into a sprint, catching sounds of alarm or offense as he pushed through Alliance bystanders.  
  
“Move!" he barked at a human, shouldering through. “Get out of the—“  
  
As he dove through two kaldorei, another pair of bodies appeared suddenly from beyond them. Before Relihn could react, he crashed and staggered directly into one of them, and he felt immediately that, while he was incased in armor, the other man had nothing more than winter coats to protect him.  
  
The other elf tumbled gracelessly into the snow, and just to salt the wound, Relihn's dinner had squashed itself between them for the split second of their collision, staining his armor and the man's finery. Relihn staggered a step or two back, some thought in his head to apologize, but it was chased out by a dozen more survival instincts.  
  
His vision focused finally on the elf he'd hurled to the dirt. Pale by nature, with long blonde hair that had sprawled and tangled during his crash. A sin'dorei, most assuredly by his red and gold attire. A stinking rich one too. Nice going, Undergallows!  
  
“Uh—“ he blurted out. “Shit, I—“  
  
The words were knocked out of his mouth by a sudden, hard shove on his breastplate. Relihn's instincts turned to a fight reflex, barely stopped from skewering his attacker by the harsh voice of the other sin'dorei he had barely missed.  
  
"Impudent _lowborne_ ," the nobleman snarled. "Watch where you throw your worthless weight, mutt!"  
  
Relihn was not a man who could bite his tongue, so to speak. "Hey, asshole, maybe you should watch your step!"  
  
"Says the barbarian careening about the road!" the elf shouted. "I'll have you hurled to the ghouls for—"  
  
"Dearest!" a softer voice called out, and then hands appeared on the nobleman's arm, pulling him back. It was the smaller blonde one, on his feet with snow and steak blood staining him. "It was an accident, I am fine—"  
  
"That doesn't matter!" the man snapped. "These jousting brutes have no tact. If the Argent Crusade will not put them in their place, perhaps I must!"  
  
"You're the one marching around in a blizzarding graveyard!" Relihn barked back. "Sorry if this isn't like your pretty gold-plated Silvermoon streets, jackass!"  
  
"Why, you—"  
  
"Enough, Daladris, please!" the blonde one strained. He turned his eyes upon Relihn. "Please forgive us, sir knight. We are in a hurry, and—"  
  
"Do not apologize to this filth, Raein'idal!" Daladris spat, shocking the other elf into silence. Then he ripped his arm free and scoffed. "I have no time for this. Come. Lady Embereye awaits us."  
  
He did not wait, marching off through the crowds. Relihn glared two burning holes into the back of his ridiculous getup, half-wishing he'd rammed _that_ idiot into the snow instead.  
  
He only realized the other elf was still there when he caught the moment of him cleaning his outermost coat off, fretting under his breath. "She'll have plenty to say of this," he muttered.  
  
Relihn twitched, an unpleasant feeling of guilt wriggling around in his gut somewhere. He told himself it was hunger over his ruined food. "You, uh—you good, Blondie?"  
  
The elf looked up at him and Relihn's mouth went dry. The nobleman's face was mercifully unscathed by the crash, a coat of makeup left in meticulously-painted place. Green eyes, stained as sin'dorei's eyes so often were, stared up at Relihn, and though speechless, he could see a million thoughts pass the man's face.  
  
Finally, the noble simply bowed. "Pardon us again," he said, and then hurried past Relihn after his 'dearest'.  
  
Relihn didn't know how to feel by the end of it all. He absentmindedly watched the nobleman stop a few yards ahead, shrug off his thick, outermost coat of brilliant red, and disappear into the bustle.  
  
Then, the state of steak sauce staining his armor preoccupied Relihn. Groaning, he wiped off what he could and licked it off his fingers, because he _sure_ wasn't paying for another whole meal at the premiums this place charged. He scooped up the chilled chunks out of the snow too, throwing them away properly. He didn't litter, he wasn't a _scoundrel._  
  
Getting his bearings, Relihn spotted the coat again, abandoned by the skittish nobleman. It wasn't quite thought through, the way Relihn stooped to pick it up. He simply did, even with the elf long gone, and numbly made his way back to his pitiful little camp on the edge of the Grounds.  
  
Despite how much that Daladris guy pissed him off, it was Blondie Relihn couldn't stop thinking about that night.


	2. Chapter 2

After a night's sleep, Relihn had forgotten all about the expensive coat he'd dropped in a corner of his tent, and he'd forgotten all about the prissy nobles he'd literally run into as well. He had ever bigger things to do, judges and ambassadors to impress.  
  
It was a little revolting, truthfully. But if it meant he'd never have to see another war...  
  
Relihn got dressed early and set out onto the Grounds. He grudgingly bought himself some breakfast, and checked by the stables to make sure Athala was well. The warhorse was cranky as usual, lightening up marginally when Relihn left a few veggies for her.  
  
It was a shockingly clear day in Icecrown. Even over the mountains and inland, Relihn didn't see much of the usual blizzarding weather. It was a nice change; the air felt a bit warmer too, with the sun just barely able to penetrate the cloud cover.  
  
He spent the morning training on the target dummies, wailing one into rough shape before heading for the jousting rings. He fetched Athala, the beast already geared for him, and they rode leisurely to the arena.  
  
The air was different today. Relihn saw much more glinting jewelry and upturned noses, telling him that a fair few rich folk were watching today's matches. He suspected the nice weather had something to do with it. Nevertheless, it was his chance to be sponsored; he had to make the most of it. No panic attacks today!  
  
He watched the first few matches play out. Every day the competition grew thinner and more challenging. If there was a hurdle Relihn couldn't clear, he hadn't tumbled face first into the snow at its feet yet. For his sake, he intended to keep it that way. As his match drew closer, he fastened and secured the rest of his armor, nudging Athala toward the stall to await his turn.  
  
The Crusader announcing today was a burly dwarven woman, her voice carrying easily over the wide open ring. She announced Relihn and his opponent: the kaldorei man he saw yesterday. Relihn knew he was good, and couldn't help an itching excitement. A challenge to best and impress some snobby rich people sounded like a productive day to him.  
  
He did not don his helmet yet. He wanted to make sure the onlookers got a good look at his face, lest any of them choose to reach out later. Athala crossed the ring toward the center, and as she did, Relihn looked out at the crowd.  
  
He saw fanciful humans and decorated kaldorei on one side. On the other, painted orcs and robed tauren. These were all high representatives of their homes and loyalties, Relihn knew. He couldn't afford to slip up today.  
  
But a streak of gold gave him pause. Relihn's attention locked on a single, pretty sight amidst the Horde-side crowd: the sin'dorei nobleman, the _nice_ one. He was bundled safely in a new coat and—was that a red scarf round his neck?—the skittishness he wore last night miles from his face today. He looked enthralled by the jousters. Relihn noticed the snotty elf was with him again, looking far more bored.  
  
Then the nice one's head turned, and he saw Relihn's face. They exchanged a second of startle, before the nobleman relaxed. There was no secret, then: his beloved was a dickstain, but Blondie seemed to like Relihn.  
  
A shame he was spoken for, Relihn couldn't help but think. He was pretty.  
  
He still couldn't help a bit of preening, as he passed the kaldorei jouster and his massive nightsaber. It took a moment of inward scolding to correct himself; he _had_ to focus. No beautiful boys were going to stop him from getting his gold and getting out of here.  
  
With a whistle of the flare gun, the duel began. Lances screeched and tore off one another, as Relihn and his opponent met in violent conflict, breaking apart to gain ground and strike in close again. Sparks and dirt flew around them, and under an almost hot sun, Relihn easily broke a sweat.  
  
The kaldorei landed the first strike, a grazing blow that nevertheless tore Relihn's off-hand gauntlet clean off his arm. He swore, but did not hear himself; instead, he heard the shocked gasp of an elf.  
  
Stupidly, Relihn's head snapped toward the sound. His eyes locked with Blondie's, a hand slapped over the noble's mouth in suspense.  
  
Relihn faltered. A warmth rose to his cheeks, stunned to be caught in this stranger's worries.  
  
It was just a second, but it was enough. A jousting lance plowed into Relihn's midsection, wrenching him straight out of Athala's saddle; he hit the ground hard, and everything went black.

* * *

Light. Bright, white; it was harsh against Relihn's eyes, yet soothing. It urged peace, even as his memory swam with questions. A jousting lance, the snow, a boy—  
  
He felt it; he had felt it before. Skin stitching itself back together. Healing. Magic.  
  
Relihn lashed out, blind and hazy by the light, That Light, but it could not overwhelm his fear. He struck out, screamed out; he didn't feel any of it, but he told his body over and over.  
  
Finally, it was dark again. Painful. But blissfully dark.

* * *

"HAH!"  
  
Daladris' booming laugh barely grazed Raein's senses, for once; it caused little more than a flinch to pulse through him. He was much too preoccupied watching the jouster upon his steed, feeling his eyes on Raein through the slots of his helmet—  
  
Then gone, as his opponent speared him clear in the chest. The jouster fell unceremoniously, clearly taken completely off-guard, as if for just a moment he had not known he was in the ring.  
  
He hit the ground with a crunch of snow and steel, and didn't move. Raein felt his stomach knot up tightly, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't look away. As the kaldorei man was dubbed the winner, healers came sprinting from the sidelines, crowding the man on the ground. Raein saw magic ignite in their hands, the Light calm and soft.  
  
Raein had wanted to learn it once, but that was a long time ago.  
  
He breathed only when the jouster began to stir, relief rushing through him. Daladris sensed his worry only then, and cracked up.  
  
"Serves him right," his fiancé said. "Considering the mess he made of your coat last night."  
  
Raein couldn't help a little gasp. "That's the same man?"  
  
"Yes, of course, do you not recognize him?"  
  
Raein wasn't good at recognizing faces he'd only seen once. He didn't try to explain himself.  
  
Daladris remained all smiles. "This is exactly what I hoped to see when you asked to watch these barbaric matches."  
  
"I think they show prowess," Raein evenly replied.  
  
Daladris rolled his eyes. "These fools wouldn't survive a day on the battlefield, Raein'idal. Trust me."  
  
Raein didn't answer.  
  
"Look at him!" Daladris laughed, waving a hand at the still fallen jouster. "He sees your pretty face and immediately gets speared! Poor bastard. I'd hate to see the way he crushes on someone in his league."  
  
"Crushes?" Raein balked.  
  
"What, you couldn't tell? The idiot saw you and forgot where he was!"  
  
"Oh." Raein's stomach knotted tighter. Then this was his fault...  
  
He jumped, as suddenly, the wounded jouster was screaming and thrashing. Even Daladris almost looked worried, if more like someone who saw a stranger's dog acting up.  
  
Raein caught a bit of what he was yelling though. "Don't _touch_ me with that shit—"  
  
Then Daladris was laughing again. "Oh, that's rich! He hates magic! Of course he does, lowborne stain! How miserable!"  
  
Raein bit his cheek. Soon, the jouster was quiet again, but there was no more spellwork involved. The fact worried Raein; how could he heal in time for the rest of the tournament without...?  
  
He couldn't help but watch, as the elf was placed onto a woven cot, two medics taking a side each and carrying him out of the ring, as the next match was preparing.  
  
Raein glanced up at his fiancé. Daladris was back to watching the jousters; he cared not for the fate of the wounded elf.  
  
So Raein took a breath, and slipped away. It was easy in such a dense crowd; a few paces was all he needed to lose sight of Daladris completely.  
  
A soft, rippling chirp hit his ears. Raein couldn't help but smile, petting at the head of the sleepy reptile coiled around his shoulders. "We're just going for a little walk," he promised, and the creature went right back to snoozing.  
  
Pushing through the back of the audience, Raein's eyes darted until he relocated the medics and injured elf. He followed at a distance, glancing back constantly, afraid he would spot Daladris catching up sooner or later. He never did.  
  
The medics took their charge toward the south ends of the Tournament Grounds, ushering him through the canvas doors of a large medical bay. Raein waited, then ducked inside.  
  
He was relieved to be out of the wind, rubbing his hands together until the feeling set back into his fingers. No amount of Dalaran winter seemed to shake his summer-bloodedness. He saw the medics pass the jouster off to another healer, then leave to resume their posts at the jousting ring, Raein presumed.  
  
"Milord?"  
  
Raein looked up, wide-eyed at the nurse staring quizzically back at him. "Do you need something, milord?" they asked.  
  
"Oh. Um." Hells! Raein cleared his throat. "Yes, ah... my champion was injured."  
  
"That lad?" the nurse asked, gesturing at the jouster Raein had followed. For all they knew, he _did_ have a crest on his saddle blankets. "He will be up soon. A concussion and some bleeding are the worst of his wounds."  
  
"I see. Ah... May I stay with him?"  
  
"Of course, milord. This way."  
  
The nurse informed the jouster's healer of the situation, and almost embarrassingly, they left Raein and the unconscious elf to themselves.  
  
Now what, Embereye? Raein caught himself fidgeting and shoved his hands into his lap. The elf in bed was stripped from the burden of his armor, leaving him in thick garments of fabric meant to shut out the cold and keep the weight of his gear from cutting into his skin.  
  
There was a bloody spot in the abdomen of his shirt though. It caught Raein off-guard as his eyes finally fixed on it, and forgetting himself, he pulled up the bottom of the jouster's shirt to inspect the wound beneath.  
  
Fortunately, the healers had already bandaged it, though even the thick layers of gauze couldn't conceal the sheer physical strength this man was packing. It was hard to believe the muscles really had been pierced, looking at them.  
  
Raein felt his face burn up and promptly retreated back to a polite sit. What was the _matter_ with him? What was he _doing_ here? As soon as Daladris or Sun forbid his mother realized—  
  
But the anxiety was suffocated by his guilt. This was his fault, remember? He'd distracted the man and gotten him seriously hurt. Not to mention greatly damaged his chances of making a name at the Tournament. Wasn't that why anyone took up a lance out here?  
  
Slowly, Raein slumped. The elf wore a permanent scowl, and Raein couldn't tell if it was the product of pain, distress from the spells, or if it was just how his face was.  
  
He had a very nice face. Not literally, just—was Daladris serious? A crush? It sounded absurd to Raein. He could feel his temperature rising again...  
  
But when the jouster began to stir, Raein lost all resolve to remain there. He stood and hurried back to one of the healers, letting them know he seemed to be waking, then fled out into the cold.  
  
And, though he'd forgotten in his fluster, it _was_ cold. Raein shivered and hugged himself, his long and winding reptile sleepily adjusting to warm him like a scarf. He missed his favorite coat; it was stupid to throw it away, but if his mother had seen it...  
  
He sighed, glancing back at the healers' tent. He wanted to help, but magic and him were...  
  
Wait. The jouster hated magic! Inspired, Raein scurried away for his family's tent.

* * *

When Relihn woke again, it was with an explosive pain in his head. It wasn't helped by the medics that came and went, testing him for the severity of a concussion they were convinced he had. He was FINE, as long as he didn't sit up too fast, or look directly at any bright lights, or breathe wrong. Just fine!  
  
They had made it clear he wasn't to leave the medical bay tonight, if he insisted on rejecting their spells—and he did. It might damn him, but he did.  
  
Relihn sighed. He didn't remember a lot. The dismounting strike and fall, yes, because those had hurt quite a lot. But little else.  
  
What was he thinking? This could have cost him everything.  
  
At least the healers had left him alone for the night. He wanted to sleep, but found it only evaded him. But dinner was free. That was probably the whole highlight of his day.  
  
And then he heard footsteps, and whispering. Relihn's ears strained, but the hushed conversation was a bit far away; he couldn't make out anything. Frustrated, he turned his head away and tried to ignore it.  
  
Then the footsteps came closer, and Relihn rolled his eyes. More healers? He thought he was _free_ of that. But the footsteps came right to his cot, and then there was the sound of one of the seating mats shifting.  
  
Relihn groaned, and relenting, he rolled to the visitor. "Fine, what do you want me to do, count fing—?"  
  
But his guest was not a doctor. It was Blondie.


	3. Chapter 3

The match from earlier came crashing back to Relihn's mind. He remembered perfectly now, the sight of that pretty elf on the sidelines; the soft look he'd given Relihn...  
  
Though the man's face wasn't soft now. He looked a little bit petrified, an ornate purse in his lap, hands frozen halfway to opening it. Relihn hardly paid it any mind though. Blondie was...  
  
Well, he looked different. He looked _disheveled_ , his long hair haphazardly stuffed up into a bun. He wore plainer, but still visibly expensive silks, all covered by a coat and shawl of featureless design. It was a clear 'sneaking out' look.  
  
What was he doing here?  
  
"I'm sorry," Blondie finally mustered, looking spooked by Relihn's curt words. "I—hello. I wanted to—ah—"  
  
Relihn's cheeks went a little pink. Oh, it wasn't fair how cute he was. Relihn drew back, remembering to give them both some space; they both surely needed it.  
  
"I don't, eh, suppose you're here to sponsor the guy you just saw fall on his ass." Relihn chanced a peek at the noble, JUST in case he actually was.  
  
"Ah—no, I'm sorry." Damn. Worth a try. "I actually... Um. I think I got you hurt."  
  
Relihn stared for a long moment. He blinked. "Huh?"  
  
"In the ring," Blondie continued to explain. "I—I think I distracted you, and cost you that match. Um. So—"  
  
Relihn could feel another blush coming on. "Okay, hey—uh, don't worry about it. I mean, you were just standing there." This was so awkward. "—Did you sneak all the way out here to apologize for that?"  
  
"No!" Blondie said. "Not quite—here."  
  
This time, as his hands resumed digging in his purse, Relihn took interest. Blondie pulled out a few vials of something, definitely resembling medicine, and held the bottles out to Relihn.  
  
"Please take them," he said. "They're the least I can offer, after today, and—yesterday too."  
  
"You're apologizing for getting slathered in food?" Relihn quirked an eyebrow.  
  
"No, no—for Daladris. My fiancé."  
  
—Ah. The precise word stung more than Relihn expected it to; more than it had any right to. "Right," he lamely said, distracting himself by swishing the bottles. The contents _looked_ expensive. "Where'd you get these?"  
  
"Oh, um." Blondie shifted awkwardly. "I just grabbed some from our tent."  
  
"Well. It sure beats magic."  
  
Blondie's ears twitched, his back straightening. "There are herbs with healing properties—quite a lot, actually. That should have you feeling well enough to resume the Tournament in a day or two."  
  
"—Wait, for real?" Relihn balked. "These—aren't magic too, right?"  
  
Blondie shook his head. "No magic. Just a lot of properties. I hope it will suffice."  
  
Relihn blinked, and then clucked his tongue. "Huh. Thanks, I guess."  
  
Blondie flashed a polite and practiced smile. Silence fell between them, as Relihn distracted himself with the bottles again.  
  
He thought too late to ask for the man's name; Blondie was suddenly on his feet. "Well, ah, I should be going," he said, fidgeting with his bag a moment before pointedly stopping. "I hope you feel better."  
  
Relihn felt like his mouth had gone dry. "Right. Yeah, uh. You too."  
  
Wait, _seriously?_ Smooth, Undergallows. Blondie blinked back at him, and Relihn expected to see his first pitying sneer.  
  
Instead, he laughed. Kind, brief; Blondie cut it off with a cough into his hand. "Good night, sir knight," he said.  
  
And before Relihn knew it, he was gone, and he left the warrior with a quickened heartbeat.

* * *

The next couple of days weren't exactly _kind_ to Relihn, but he could feel a substantially stronger sense of wellness than he'd have expected. The potions Blondie brought him were effective pain killers, and Relihn found himself finishing them down to the second-to-last bottle. The true last one was kept close in case of an emergency.  
  
By the third morning, he was determined to get back to work. He was a few days off training by now, and had lost valuable time by missing several matches. He had no wiggle room left, working himself tirelessly into the afternoon in preparation to make a late-day challenge.  
  
He still didn't feel ready, even as he donned his armor and fetched Athala. The ticking minutes as he was loaded into one of the arena stalls, the crowded murmur of spectators on every side...  
  
But he won. The next three days, he won each of his matches. Soon, the setback was forgotten, but Blondie's kindness wasn't. He might've been the only reason Relihn still had a chance.  
  
He found the coat one day. Still thoroughly stained with week-old steak sauce, it remained the prettiest piece of clothing Relihn had ever held in his hands. Honestly, he could probably pawn it and be halfway to buying out a hole in Dalaran, never to face war again.  
  
It'd be easy. Yet Relihn found it nothing but hard to dwell on. So he spent that morning vigorously cleaning it, wash after wash, until he was certain it was free of any hints to its unfortunate accident.  
  
Then, Relihn kept it neatly folded in his bag at all times.  
  
There was some sort of dinner going on, up at the Sunreavers' tents. Challengers and champions were welcome, and Relihn _really_ did not want to go, but he needed to keep putting his face where some rich sponsor might see it. Grudgingly, he promised Athala some expensive-ass veggies, and ducked into the main tent.  
  
It was huge, well lit, and smelled of food. Relihn's mouth watered in an instant, as his stomach made it very clear how cheap he'd been on meals the last few days. Still, eating meant pushing into the thick of nauseatingly decorated aristocrats, most of which looked as mean as Relihn assumed rich people were, odd cute blonde ones not withstanding.  
  
Relihn made himself a fly on the wall instead, waiting for the crowds to die down before he braved it himself. He watched people pass, talk, dance. He talked too, whenever he caught someone's eye. He wasn't charismatic, really, but he could wing an interview when he needed to. Most of them smelled in him the same thing Quel'Thalassians always had—or rather, the lack of something. He was dismissed each time.  
  
And hungry as he was, Relihn wasn't here to be judged by a bunch of silk-clad dipshits who would sooner throw fodder to the war in their name than put a foot in it themselves. Surely _one_ of them could at least sponsor him on the merit that, if a magicless wretch like him died out there, they might find it funny.  
  
Relihn's skin crawled. He grabbed a quick plate of anything he could slap on it in under a minute, then bailed into the cold night. He couldn't stand it in there.  
  
And apparently, neither could someone else. Relihn froze just outside the tent, as he watched a blur of red and gold whisk around a far away corner. It was dark, freezing, and something in Relihn told him it wasn't right.  
  
Mindless, he followed. The stray did not go far, tucking themself between the wood and stone pillars of one of the archways, just as Relihn had days ago. He heard the sound of a body slumping to the ground, and he felt something heavy in the air.  
  
Tiptoeing closer, he found his suspicions correct: the runaway was Blondie, huddled up with his side to the wall and his head hidden away in his arms and knees. Relihn had never seen someone so pretty look so pathetic.  
  
Blondie hadn't noticed him yet, and Relihn was struggling on how to announce himself. After a tense thirty or so seconds, he settled with an awkward, "Hey, uh—"  
  
The man screeched, whirling around with a look of fright far too strong for a mere startle. Relihn couldn't even be startled or mad himself—curled up in the snow like that, he just looked sad.  
  
"Sorry!" he blurted, holding his non-plate-carrying hand in submission. "It's just me. I mean, uh, it's not—whoever you thought I was. Probably." Maybe Blondie _was_ just scared shitless of him.  
  
But the man relaxed a fraction, uncurling a little bit from the fearful bundle he'd made of himself. "Sir knight," he said, a flicker of disbelief on his face—and then a different kind of fear. Frivolous mortification. "Ah! Don't look, please, I'm indecent—"  
  
"You're _what_ now," Relihn said, but Blondie was hurrying to his feet, slapping snow out of his silks.  
  
"Forgive me," he continued. "I must look such a mess, it is unsightly—"  
  
"Dude, it's just snow. I mean. It's everywhere."  
  
But Blondie wouldn't have it. Standing at last on his feet, he continued, "I simply needed some fresh air, is all—I will return to the dinner shortly, so please do not report to my—"  
  
His voice died, abrupt as the split second of pure, blinding white pain on his face. Then he cried out as if struck with a blade, collapsing to the wall and back into the snow.  
  
"Whoa!" Relihn yelped uselessly. He had just enough mind to set his dinner on a pillar's stone base, as he sunk to a kneel besides the elf, hands hovering uselessly. "Shit, what the hell—are you okay—"  
  
Blondie clearly was not. His breaths had gone short, hyperventilating as he both clutched himself and pushed Relihn away. His mind was obviously somewhere else entirely.  
  
Relihn didn't know what to do. A panic attack was a thing he was more used to doing, not helping someone else through. At a loss, he fumbled for his bag and pulled out the man's abandoned coat, draping it around his trembling shoulders.  
  
"Hey, hey—" Relihn found his voice the moment the coat's weight seemed to snap Blondie halfway out of it. "It's okay, you're fine—don't worry. You're okay."  
  
Blondie's eyes found Relihn's, and for the first time, the sight of them didn't make Relihn look away in a fluster. The man needed something real, something that couldn't have been there in whatever horrible memory was playing tricks on him now.  
  
Relihn adjusted the coat a bit snugger, and that finally seemed to draw him out. He looked down, numbly taking hold of where the two halves were folded across his chest. "You... Where did you—?"  
  
"You dropped it," Relihn said, a sudden lameness falling over his voice. "I mean—I guess I've been meaning to get it back to you—"  
  
He stopped talking as Blondie was staring at him again. This time, Relihn felt the blush in his own face, watching the other elf's look back at him with... gratitude? Joy? He couldn't deal with this shit today, okay.  
  
Then Blondie spoke. "You were not sent to find me, were you?"  
  
"Huh?" Relihn balked. "No, I uh—I saw you running off. Thought, uh—" What did he think? _Did_ he think? "—I thought maybe it, you know, wasn't a good idea to let you fuck off by yourself."  
  
A pause, as Relihn caught his own swear. Not that HE cared, but the cute and rich man trembling under his fingers might. "Fuck, I mean ran off—shit—"  
  
He stopped as laughter hit his ears; Blondie was doing it again. Soft and sweet, no hint of judgment or cruelty. Just something gently delighted. Relihn could hear his heartbeat in his ears.  
  
Then a harsh shiver ran through the fragile man, and Relihn snapped back to initiative. "All right, mister summer-born—c'mon, we're huntin' down a brazier."  
  
"You won't take me back to the dinner?" he asked, a trace of hope.  
  
"I don't want to be there any more than you do," Relihn said. "Let's go."  
  
He helped Blondie stand, and finally noticed the apparent injury when the elf would not put any weight on his left leg. Relihn couldn't imagine how he got himself hurt, but he didn't dwell on it; first thing was first, and they were both getting cold.  
  
He fetched his dinner on the way, and found a brazier under a small wood canopy structure meant to keep the lances shaded and easily spotted. Relihn left Blondie to balance against a post for a moment, as he dragged a featureless bench closer to the brazier so they could sit.  
  
He sighed hard, rubbing his hands vigorously before holding them to the fire. The heat felt blissful on his fingers. When he didn't see Blondie doing the same, though, Relihn glanced at him.  
  
He was staring back at him, and too slow to hide the fact. Nevertheless, Blondie's eyes darted back to his own coat. "—Thank you," he mustered. "I... did not mean to be so troublesome. I apologize—"  
  
"What, hey," Relihn interjected. "Don't worry about it. You—"  
  
Well. Relihn didn't know what happened, but he knew Blondie had a penchant for sneaking away, and a scummy fiancé to sneak away from. Relihn would too, if he was marrying that clown. Probably not the thing he was supposed to say here though.  
  
He shrugged. "I'd hate to see you freeze out here, I guess."  
  
"Why?"  
  
It was a question Relihn didn't at all expect. And, looking at Blondie's face, it wasn't one he meant to ask either.  
  
The man tore his eyes away again, watching the fire. "I mean—all I have done is bring you trouble."  
  
" _Huh?_ " Was he serious right now?  
  
"Spurring my fiancé on you, costing you that match—"  
  
"Hey, okay—look. I mean. None of that was really your fault. And—" Relihn felt his face go hot. "And how do you think _you_ cost me the match?"  
  
"Daladris said I distracted you."  
  
"Daladris is a dic—" Relihn's mouth snapped shut with a muffled grunt, but there was no tricking the man staring horrified back at him. Relihn had to try though. "—di—discorrect." Fuck.  
  
Blondie blinked. "Incorrect...?"  
  
"Yeah, that—" _Fuck,_ dude. "Look, whatever, okay? You didn't distract me. And—I'm the one that ticked him off by running into you. You—you just got a ruined coat."  
  
Blondie was quiet for a moment, and Relihn was sure he was realizing what every elf did. But he softened. "A coat you salvaged for me."  
  
"Uh. I mean—"  
  
"Thank you, sir knight. I have been missing it."  
  
Relihn flushed and his brain scrambled. "Undergallows," he blurted out. "Uh. Relihn Undergallows. Call me that."  
  
"Relihn Undergallows," Blondie repeated, probably only committing it to memory, but fuck all if his voice didn't make it sound handsome. That shit wasn't _fair,_ dude. "—mbereye."  
  
Oh fuck, was he talking again? Relihn stared like an idiot at him. "Uh?"  
  
Blondie shook with a little giggle. "My name is Raein'idal Embereye," he repeated. "It is a pleasure, Sir Relihn."  
  
Oh no. Oh no, that was DEFINITELY worse than 'sir knight'. Relihn could feel himself making a little wheezing noise. Oh no.  
  
Relihn cleared his throat, and promptly shoved his plate of food Blondie's—Raein'idal's way. "You should eat," he said, picking his own share off the top with his fingers. "You don't look like you did before runnin' out here."  
  
Raein made some faces Relihn didn't understand, but he took up the fork and politely began to eat. After a few minutes' silence, he spoke again. "I am glad to see you've made such a comeback in the Tournament."  
  
It took Relihn a minute to parse that. His eyes shot to Raein's. "You've been watching me?"  
  
"I have kept my distance this time," he said, that guilt sneaking back into his voice. "But yes. I felt I at least should make sure I hadn't cost you the whole event."  
  
"Okay, no—quit doing that."  
  
"Sir Rel—?"  
  
"It wasn't your fault. Okay? I just—" Relihn blew out a hard mouthful of air. "It doesn't matter. I appreciate the help, but you don't have to wallow in it."  
  
Raein looked conflicted, but he slowly resigned. "Very well. Then I... wanted to be able to offer more help, if necessary."  
  
Relihn quirked an eyebrow. "Potions?"  
  
He _swore_ Raein's cheeks got a little pinker. Poor bastard really can't handle the cold, huh? "Yes."  
  
"I mean, they helped a lot." Relihn gracelessly stuffed some more food in his face. "I've been doing great ever since that whole hiccup. I guess I have you to thank for that, huh?"  
  
There it was again—Relihn _SWORE_ he was blushing. Maybe the cute nobleman didn't see anything in his bitchy fiancé either.  
  
Maybe—  
  
"Raein'idal!"  
  
Raein looked as if shot, launching to his feet even despite how he only looked like he wanted to run. He moved like he was possessed, like something stronger than his own flight reflex commanded him.  
  
By the time Relihn turned himself on the bench, a familiar douchebag was stomping through the snow toward them. "Dearest," Raein greeted—  
  
"There you are!" Daladris shouted, hands clapping on the smaller elf's shoulders, then to his cold cheeks. Some acidic fire scorched at the pit of Relihn's chest. "Blazes, Raein'idal, when I realized you'd left my side I was worried sick. What are you doing out here? With—"  
  
As he asked, Daladris looked up at Relihn, and his eyes immediately, hatefully steeled. "With _HIM?_ " he all but growled.  
  
"I, ah—" Just like that, Raein's voice seemed almost too fast for his thoughts, like he was speaking before he even knew what he was saying. "I—"  
  
"He came up for some air," Relihn interjected. "And got a little lost."  
  
Daladris looked convinced, but definitely not pleased. He harrumphed and stuck up his nose. "You do not know the eyes you burn with your miserable presence, do you, lowborne?"  
  
"Oh, I wish I could burn your eyes out, dude—"  
  
"When next you so chivalrously try kissing up to Lord Raein'idal Embereye, son of the Grand Magistrix Al'ara Embereye, you would do well to return him directly to her or I."  
  
Relihn's lip curled; he couldn't help it. "What, like a lost animal?"  
  
"Lord Raein'idal is the heir to a great and brilliant lineage," Daladris snarled back. "If anything were to happen to him under your watch, you'd never again see the light of—"  
  
"Enough, please," Raein gently said, weaving his arms into Daladris'. The acidic feeling in Relihn's chest came back with a bite. "He was only warming me up by the fire before the walk back. He's been nothing but kind to me."  
  
Daladris scoffed. "Yes, you would think so, love."  
  
What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean? Relihn didn't get the chance to ask, as Raein's disarming eyes looked to him again.  
  
"Thank you for your help," he said. There was something there. Relihn knew there was, but was far from smart enough to tell what. "I hope you continue to do well in the Tournament, Sir Relihn."  
  
Oh. There was THAT again. Relihn only snapped back to his senses when Daladris sneered at him, clearly sensing the extra thumps in Relihn's chest. He glared back at the dipshit, who promptly led Raein away and back toward the tent.  
  
Relihn didn't know why suddenly he was the one feeling unprepared for the cold.


	4. Chapter 4

"Please?"  
  
It was the third time Raein had asked. Daladris was far more interested with a pair of magical tomes and the thoughtless cooperating with a servant's fixing of his extravagant layered attire, but Raein could sense the growing agitation in the air.  
  
He did not ask for much. He never did. But the deeper Daladris and Raein's mother got in their work, the more abandoned Raein felt. Of course that was reasonable, when you were but the failure prodigy of your mother's beloved lineage. But Raein's heart longed for some reminder that they still loved him.  
  
"I promise it is the last matches I'll ask you to join me for," he continued when Daladris never replied. "The challengers will be making their final attempts to move into the Argent Crusade's sanctioned champions today. I would like to see who has persevered."  
  
"You worry yourself over driftwood, love," Daladris said. "There is an ocean's worth of possibility at your fingertips, and you want to watch men poke each other with sticks?"  
  
"It is a show of prowess—"  
  
"Or is this about your dashing knight?"  
  
The interjection struck Raein with all the force of a knife. Daladris waved his hand, shutting both books, and strode over, brushing a thumb across Raein's cheek.  
  
"Not that I scorn you for fancying yourself a pining plaything," Daladris said. "But please. You could stand to choose one a little less unsightly."  
  
"I fancy no one but you, Dala," Raein quipped back, tugging his face away from his fiancé's hand. "That isn't what this is about—"  
  
"Mhm." Daladris turned away again. "Worry not! We both have everything to lose if our engagement were to be compromised. And you know I trust you unerringly.  
  
"So go. Enjoy the sweaty men groveling for your favor. I will handle the important things."  
  
Something in Raein stirred, but like every time before, he batted it down. He came around Daladris' side and kissed his cheek. "I will be back in time for dinner, of course."  
  
"Of course," Daladris said.  
  
He did not wish Raein a goodbye as the young Embereye departed. The moment he was alone in the morning chill, he felt an overwhelming urge to cry. He did not.  
  
There was a chirp and trill against the wind, and the knot in Raein's throat loosened with relief as a familiar ribbon of red scales went darting up his form. Din'raal perched upon his shoulder, forked tongue flicking out in a reptilian sniffing gesture.  
  
Raein offered the fuzzy mane on his head some scritches, each one lovingly bent into. "How could I forget? You would never leave me to face an outing alone."  
  
Din'raal trilled again, then took up his usual spot coiled warmly around Raein like a scarf.  
  
Raein was never quite going to get used to the cold, but the helpful protection of his strange pet surely made it easier. And the last few days having his coat back in his possession were downright blissful; a happy warmth would spread in his chest every time he picked it up before going out.  
  
He still couldn't believe that jouster—Relihn Undergallows, oh yes, Raein would not forget—had gone to such trouble to see it returned to him. The coat had only felt warmer since Relihn had returned it; Raein hadn't realized just how much he must have missed it.  
  
Would Relihn be participating today? Raein suspected so, and found himself hopeful to see the man's match. He was talented, to be sure, and Raein had not expected that 'knightly chivalry' to be as true as it was. But Relihn, rough around the edges as he was, was very kind and even a little charming. His fiancé might not have thought so, but Raein was certainly taken in by the unlikely company.  
  
—Wait. He was doing it again. Raein gave his head a hard few shakes, briefly unsettling Din'raal. What was wrong with him? Okay, so Daladris might not have been entirely wrong. _Maybe_ Raein had a little crush. But it would be hard not to! Relihn was interesting, and had shown interest in Raein multiple times. Their talks were brief and soiled by Raein's self-doubts, but they were the nicest memories Raein had of this frigid place.  
  
Dala and his mother were just so _busy_. Was it wrong to find a little happiness in a new friendship? Could it be helped that his neglected feelings daydreamt of that interest going a step further?  
  
No—was he _hearing_ himself? This was how scandals started. And Daladris had a point: his family _and_ Raein's had had more than enough scandals recently. The last thing they needed was some paparazzi getting it in their head that Raein had some kind of divide in his attention.  
  
And besides, he loved Daladris. Busy as the man was, no one had ever wanted the Embereye disgrace that was Raein'idal. Unable to master his bloodline fire, dishonoring it further with a careless affair with the Light that had abandoned him when he needed it most—  
  
Yes. Yes, his family could afford no more scandals, and he was so lucky to have Daladris.  
  
He stopped along the road to the jousting rings. Perhaps it would've been better to stay in, if his new fondness for the rugged knight that was Relihn was sending his brain in such spirals. Obviously, he needed to clear his head, to refocus his priorities. Obviously—  
  
Ka- _FWOOM!_  
  
Raein's senses cut out. Everything he heard felt miles away, and all he could see were smudges of motion or color. It was as if he'd been tossed into the black sea off the edge of Icecrown. He felt heavy, and simultaneously weightless.  
  
Then he felt brute force. Two points struck him, shoving hard, then something blunt and frozen crashed flush with his whole body. He felt no air in his lungs, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision. His arms nor voice seemed to respond at all to him. Fear shouted and screamed in his mind, but it too felt too far away to grasp.  
  
Then, something did grasp his arm. Raein attempted to fight it, but no part of him reliably acted on his mind's demands. He felt himself be moved, hoisted up. He blinked and all the colors blurring around him looked different.  
  
He blinked again, and directly in front of him, too close and not close enough, was that kind jouster. Relihn's face was pointed elsewhere—out of the archway they had taken shelter in, Raein realized—but he was close enough that Raein could clock a million details. Sweat, short breaths, darting eyes; but gritted teeth and a furrowed brow. Fear and determination crashing together.  
  
Raein's own fear faltered. He at last registered that Relihn held him between himself and the wall, protecting him—and it worked. Raein wasn't the least bit afraid.  
  
His heart thrummed fast in his chest. This knight—  
  
Sound returned to him. He heard growling, clawing, and just like that the fear came crashing in tenfold. He knew these sounds. He knew what was happening.  
  
"Help me," he found himself pleading, grasping at Relihn's armor. "Please—"  
  
Relihn looked back at him, a flicker of softness. When had anyone ever looked at him with softness? But it was gone in a flash, guarded in a look as steely as his armor. Relihn took a step back, one hand held fast to Raein's arm.  
  
The other held a beautiful sword.  
  
"Stay close," Relihn said, and Raein trusted him unfalteringly.  
  
The knight drew him back through the archway, out into the other side of the Tournament Grounds. The stables lined one side, and the jousting arena the other. Relihn pushed on, still holding tightly to Raein's arm.  
  
The first monstrosity at last hit Raein's vision. A rotting, sneering gargoyle creature swooped down at them, but Relihn held his back to Raein and his sword to the creature. It struck his blade sideways, stopped in its tracks; Relihn threw down his arm and the creature at once, hurling the latter into the dirt. They kept running before it could get up.  
  
Still, Raein's fear was mounting fast. He couldn't breathe, screaming so hard he tore his throat every time another minion of the Scourge came at them. It was an ambush, Icecrown's forces determined to squash the Argent Tournament before they could ever bolster their forces with it.  
  
But Relihn struck or diverted each one, until he veered himself and Raein into a stable. There stood a furious warhorse, whinnying and thrashing until Relihn snatched her rein.  
  
Raein slumped to the stable wall, wheezing for air. He scooted as deep into the warhorse's stall as he could, away from the Scourge's onslaught outside. He felt Din'raal wrap tighter around him.  
  
The rest of the attack passed in a blur. Raein had sunk to the floor as Relihn and his horse defended the stable entrance, thwarting any undead force that tried to push through. Even when the sound of battle quieted, Raein could hear his own heart pounding, the deafening ringing in his ears—  
  
"—ey."  
  
And a voice.  
  
"Hey! Blondie!" It was Relihn again, suddenly knelt in front of Raein. His sword lay in the hay beside them both. "Look at me, Blondie—are you hurt? Can you hear me?"  
  
Raein stared dumbly back at him. His mind spun a million miles a moment. He wanted nothing more than to cry his eyes out.  
  
But he didn't. "Ar—are they gone?"  
  
A fraction of relief surfaced on Relihn's face. "Yeah, the Crusade sent them running. It's over."  
  
Raein could breathe just a little bit easier.  
  
"Your head—"  
  
As Relihn started to say it, his fingers touched Raein's temple. Pain shot through him, and he recoiled with a screech.  
  
"—Sorry! Sorry, here—"  
  
Raein got his bearings just in time to watch Relihn damp a cloth in something, then press it to his head. He hissed as what felt like a gash responded with sharp pain, then quickly numbed, leaving Raein to shudder.  
  
Relihn cleaned off the wound as Raein continued to tremble. Seemingly with nothing else to use, Relihn started to tear at a bit of his sleeve. Raein barely registered what he was doing.  
  
"—Are you going to bandage me? With that?"  
  
Relihn looked stunned, and then defensive. "It's all I've got—"  
  
"It's unsanitary."  
  
"Listen, prim and proper—"  
  
"No, I mean it is _literally_ unsterile. You'll infect me."  
  
"With what? My charm?"  
  
Silence cut between them. Raein watched the jouster flush the brightest red he'd ever seen, before distracting himself by wrapping the torn fabric back around his arm—as if that would fix his sleeve.  
  
"Never mind," he grumbled. "Probably best I don't get any training sweat on you anyway—"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Relihn spared a look at him, conflicted. "For not sweating on you—?"  
  
"For saving me." A tension left Raein then, and all he had left in him was the hindsight of all the things that could've happened to him. "I—I would've been—"  
  
"Hey, you wouldn't have been anything, all right? You're okay."  
  
Raein swallowed, and then just nodded. He reached up to touch near his head, but the gash was thoroughly numbed. After a bit of thought, it clicked.  
  
"This is my potion—" he said.  
  
"Huh?" Relihn stared a moment. "Oh, yeah. I kept one. You know, just in case. Came in handy."  
  
Raein could only stare back at him though. He felt a fluttery sort of warmth all through his body. He felt it spread into his cheeks, but he couldn't will himself to look away.  
  
Oh, Dala wasn't wrong. Raein fancied a knight.  
  
And then Relihn made a noise like a scream and swear at once. It caused Raein to scream right back, as the warrior scrambled to the other side of the stall. Raein had no idea what the reaction was about, until he finally registered the little licks of a tiny dragon tongue on his chin.  
  
"Oh—" he gasped, gently unwinding Din'raal from out of the cozy collars of his layered winter-wear. "Din! You aren't hurt, are you?"  
  
"That is SUCH a big lizard," Relihn croaked out, pointing an accusatory finger at the 'lizard' in question. "What IS that?"  
  
"He's a pet," Raein said. "An extremely rare breed of dragon. His name is—"  
  
"It's a DRAGON?"  
  
Din'raal trilled proudly. Yes, it was he, the dragon. Relihn suddenly laughed, crawling closer again.  
  
"There's no way that's a dragon," he said. "Where are its wings? It's puny!"  
  
Din'raal _puffed_ a ball of hot smoke; it shut Relihn right up. Raein couldn't stop himself, bursting into delighted laughter. He hadn't felt this happy in so long, and he knew he couldn't dwell in it, but... A few minutes wouldn't hurt any.  
  
When he could open his eyes again, Relihn was staring back at him. Raein knew there could be something there, if—if he wanted there to be—  
  
Did he? He was betrothed. He had his duties and his priorities. Yet never had his fire shone so softly in his chest before.  
  
No. He knew better than this. Still, he glowed as he spoke. "Sir Relihn, you have saved me twofold now. Please, allow me to speak with my mother, the Grand Magistrix. I do not know what might be arranged, but you are owed compensation for your actions."  
  
Relihn stared at him like Raein had grown a second head. It was... adorable. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
"I want to reward you," Raein said through another laugh. When was the last time he laughed? "You have been nothing but kind to me. I must make it up to you."  
  
"I—" There was a conflict on Relihn's face, like he both wanted to refuse and didn't. He swallowed thickly. "—Sure, I mean. Okay. I guess."  
  
"Good. I will make sure my mother hears of what you've done for me."  
  
"Th... Thanks?"  
  
A flash of doubt crossed Raein's mind, but he was still sure. Maybe he could not reciprocate this knight's feelings, but he could make sure he was compensated for them.  
  
"I do not want to overstep," he started to say—  
  
"No," Relihn interjected. "No, I—really. Thank you. I... I've been needing a break like this real bad."  
  
Somehow, it only made Raein's heart spin faster. He _could_ do something! He had to. He wouldn't let this dashing man down now.  
  
"I will see to it."

* * *

The jousting matches were rescheduled due to the Scourge attacks, accommodating the unexpected injuries of the participants. Raein returned to his family's personal tent, hitched high and thoroughly enchanted. The moment he entered, it swelled with spacious size; he shed his coats, and Din'raal leapt off him to bounce around at one of the maids' feet, much to her delight.  
  
Raein crossed the length of the deceptively and magically huge tent, passing through the sheer silks and beads that defined doorways. As he expected, Lady Al'ara Embereye was stuffed up in the office, pouring over endless magical research and half-finished tactical battle plans.  
  
Al'ara was a genius, recently disgraced by her father's disownment and her loyalty to Kael'thas Sunstrider. But she was rebuilding her name in Silvermoon, and Raein knew the cementing of that name fell to him.  
  
He could not control his fire, but he could marry into a respectable family in similar need of something to root themselves back into Silvermoon's favor. Raein and Daladris were made for each other, and Raein promised himself it was a love still learning to flourish between them; a flower struggling in an unlikely environment. It only needed time and patience. Some day soon, it would feel like the love he used to imagine as a child.  
  
"Mother," he greeted, his voice practiced and his bow to her precise.  
  
Al'ara looked up briefly, then was right back to her books. "Raein'idal, my dear. I am working—are you well? The attacks—"  
  
"I am safe," Raein said, and held his breath a moment. "... Thanks to one of the jousters."  
  
This time, when Al'ara looked up at him, she did not return to the books. She raised an eyebrow.  
  
Raein took it as a cue to continue. "He came to my rescue when the Scourge attacked. I want to repay him."  
  
Al'ara lowered the eyebrow again. She approached him, and he stood perfectly straight, a faultless posture even as he felt a hot pain acting up in his left knee. He did not dare meet her eye as she inspected him.  
  
She touched two fingers to the cut in his head. He only blinked. "This jouster saved your life? You could not do away with some ghouls on your own?"  
  
Raein took a steady breath. "I would not be here if not for him. He is like the others—a promising fighter, searching for an in to something greater."  
  
Al'ara hummed. She withdrew her hand, walking back to her books and maps. "Do as you wish. I care not for any pet knights you choose to keep or spoil."  
  
Raein felt his heart leap. "As I wish?"  
  
"Did I stutter, Sunshine? Pay him, hire him—if a plaything should make you happy, then a plaything you should have."  
  
Raein knew not to argue about the definitions involved—not if he wanted to keep his mother's blessing. He bowed again. "Thank—"  
  
"On one condition."  
  
Raein froze mid-bow, his eyes wide at the floor. Of course there was a catch. "Yes?"  
  
"We resume your studies."  
  
Raein couldn't help it; his eyes shot up to Al'ara, horror paling every feature on his face. "I—I cannot, we have tried—"  
  
"Then we try again," Al'ara said, unfazed as she scrawled something across one of her notebooks. "Your days as an alchemist are over. Sunstrider is dead, and we have all the medics we need at our beck and call, all more skilled than you. We need an Embereye.  
  
"So long as you study, you can pamper a pet knight. I think that is reasonable."  
  
And there was no convincing her otherwise. Raein felt that tiny bit of fight bleed right back out of him.  
  
"Run along," Al'ara continued. "I have work to do, and you have all the Tournament to make your decision."  
  
In the end, Raein could only bow and mumble a thank-you, slipping back out and making directly for the passage that denoted his bedroom. He drew the opaque curtain over it, the crimson fabric thoroughly enchanted; it was soundproof and required his permission for most people to enter. Unsurprisingly, his mother was not 'most people'.  
  
And neither was Din'raal. Soon after Raein collapsed into bed with a groan, the dragon came scrabbling in after him, leaping upon his chest and using his windy levitation to land feather-light there. He immediately bent and folded his whole body under Raein's chin, like a very cuddly slinky. He gave the happiest whuff a dragon the size of a cat could muster.  
  
Raein sighed and scritched a couple fingers along his forehead. "You are the only nice thing about surviving the Third War, Din."  
  
Din'raal gave a soft, almost worried chirrup. Raein just kept petting him, until the tip of his tail kicked into a little wag and he relaxed. As the dragon fell asleep, Raein closed his eyes and tried to mimic his breathing.

* * *

Two days later, the Tournament was back in full swing. Relihn took full advantage of the extra couple days by stuffing his face with a big dinner and then training night and day.  
  
He'd been doing well since recovering. There was still the hurdle of bitchy elves sniffing his magic deficiency from a mile away, and every day he worried more it'd be the nail in his coffin. But he _was_ doing well, whether a bunch of aristocratic douchebags saw it or not.  
  
Except he needed them to see it. Relihn groaned and squished his helmet down over his head. Athala, despite her own couple of workouts the last couple days, was itching for a real match. It was a good omen, Relihn told himself.  
  
After all, they _had_ to win this one. If they failed, they'd be out of the Tournament. Relihn would be right back to square one.  
  
He swallowed thickly as Athala carried him to the ring. More people than ever were gathered, eager to see who would fall and who would rise as Champions. Relihn's heart raced. He felt lightheaded, if not for the helmet weighing on his brow.  
  
And then he caught it: a glint of gold. Relihn's eyes shot towards it, hopeful—and his gaze met a pretty blonde nobleman's.  
  
Raein looked surprised, for a moment, but put on a smile and waved. Relihn felt a stupid grin tug at his face, blessedly hidden beneath his helmet. Instead, he made a pesky gesture like tipping a hat to the man. The faint peals of laughter he could hear made his heart race for entirely different reasons.  
  
It was easier after that. Relihn and Athala were loaded up in the stall on one end of the arena. He watched the movements he could catch outside, as if he expected an ambush. He was ready, maybe too ready, but he couldn't fail. He had a few good reasons, and one of them may've been impressing that pretty blonde nobleman outside.  
  
He shook out the tension in his face as the Crusader in the arena began announcing the two jousters. The haughty introduction of Relihn's name blurred by his ears, mostly unheard as his internal monologue psyched himself up again and again. He missed his opponent's introduction as well.  
  
Then the gates opened, and Relihn urged Athala into the ring. His eyes locked hard on the mount across from him, determination coursing in every vein—  
  
And then, he couldn't breathe.  
  
Across the arena marched a massive, elephant-looking beast, alien to Azeroth but far too familiar to Relihn. Its thick, purple skin stretched and wrinkled with every step, as atop it, its rider rolled a shoulder to loosen the tension there.  
  
Relihn recognized his armor immediately, all gold and crystalline. Two blue horns grew tall from custom-made slots in his helmet, and a long, hairless tail of the same color lay neatly folded along the side of his leg.  
  
Athala continued to march even without Relihn's command. The two challengers drew to the middle of the arena, where Relihn couldn't tear his eyes away from the massive draenei across from him, no matter how much he wanted to.  
  
Oh, he was scared. More than he'd ever been in this ring before.  
  
The Crusader's nearby voice sounded as if drowned, as Relihn clutched the reins so tightly his knuckles lost all color beneath the gauntlets. He didn't hear the command to pass one another and turn around, nor did he hear the two concerned voices after it.  
  
He blinked, and for a moment, the crags around the Tournament Grounds looked like Shattrath.  
  
But through it all, a chirping sound reached him. He blinked again, faster; he looked up and saw a ribbon of red in the sky. It took him a moment to recognize it, as it descended back to the edge of the ring and coiled lovingly around the shoulders of a familiar, pale face.  
  
Could Raein see how terrified he was under the helmet? How wide his eyes were? How much his face hurt—?  
  
Raein smiled. It was the stiffest thing Relihn had ever seen, as if the man had never smiled in his life and was only vaguely copying what he'd seen others do. But it was sincere. It was encouraging.  
  
Relihn remembered he had to win. He wanted to win. He wanted to stay on these Grounds with that odd man just a little bit longer.  
  
He gave Athala a little nudge, and she passed the draenei, turning round to face him again. Relihn took a deep, steadying breath.  
  
He was going to win.  
  
The flare fired. "CHARGE!"  
  
Athala had the advantage of speed, but tough as she was, the elekk mount was surely stronger. Athala dashed in with all her momentum, empowering Relihn's lance as he thrust it alongside a strained battle cry toward the draenei jouster.  
  
For his size though, he was agile too, maneuvering aside and taking his own strike at Relihn. He heard steel screech in his ears, but the force was largely diverted as it glanced off his armor. Kicking Athala, the warhorse dashed out, putting distance between the two rivals as she veered back around.  
  
She dove right back in, and with her full speed behind his lance, Relihn thrust it into the draenei. The blunted end screeched, sparks flew—  
  
And Relihn blinked. The crags were Shattrath, the lance was a sword, and he was scared.  
  
He swore as he felt the weapon come wrenched out of his grip, whistling as it spiraled into a snow bank. Athala retreated again as Relihn faltered to panic, clutching his sword hand.  
  
He had to keep shaking away the illusion of a broken wrist, of a shattered hand. He gasped pitifully against his own squeezing lungs.  
  
When he looked up, Athala had rushed to the lance. Relihn doubled over, stretching until he felt a tear of muscle in his shoulder, but he retrieved his weapon just as Athala fearlessly went barreling back into the pursuing draenei. Mount met mount in a crash of armor, and as tough as Athala was, she was still the one that bounced back off the elekk's girth.  
  
Relihn could feel himself breathing too fast. The corners of his vision blurred, narrowing his line of sight and fixating on the draenei. Blood rushed through his head, his heart thundering against the inside of his breastplate.  
  
But he kicked Athala and they went in against. Lance to lance, steel to steel. The fight was intense and exhausting, and though Relihn was waning, so was the draenei.  
  
He just needed one hard shot to the man's center, and Relihn would win. Gritting his teeth hard, he veered Athala out to the edge of the arena. "We got this," he told her. "We got this. We got this. Ready?"  
  
With a furious whinny, Athala plunged. Relihn shouted just as fiercely, lance poised, determined to drive the weapon so hard into the draenei's chest his grandfather would feel it.  
  
A shriek. Sparks. Relihn's vision went black as he shut his eyes, and pain exploded through him. In his chest. In his face...  
  
He felt something wet gush over his nose. Then he hit the snow, hard and with no wits to defend himself. He gasped, as if surfacing from the frozen sea. He blinked hard against the sky, realized his helmet had flown off. His hand shot to his face, to the deep scar he swore had reopened—  
  
But no blood came away with his fingers. Just tears.  
  
He'd lost.


	5. Chapter 5

Something was wrong.  
  
Raein knew he wasn’t a very smart person. He could not recognize people’s faces, nor their intentions. He could not wield his own lineage fire, despite a lifetime of study and practice. His only value had been as a mediocre medic to the corrupt Sun King, and now, as a hand to be married off to secure his bloodline’s future in Quel’Thalas.  
  
But he knew, as he watched Relihn’s match, that something was very wrong. He could not see the elf’s face behind his helmet, nor could he very well discern the intricacies of battle cries. But he could feel it, a tension all through his body; a clenching in his chest, miserably familiar.  
  
Fear. Something in that arena scared Relihn like the undead scared Raein, and his heart mourned for the pain that jouster must have been in.  
  
“Din,” Raein whispered, and the dragon’s head shot up off his collar, attentive eyes trained on him. Raein could only watch the struggling knight in the ring. “Help him. Bring him back to the duel.”  
  
Din’raal chirped, then unfurled his long and spindly body from around Raein’s shoulders. Though wingless as Relihn had once observed, the small serpentine dragon made use of air-manipulative powers, gliding up into the sky. Raein’s hands clenched tightly over his heart, as Din’raal twirled and spiraled above the arena, chirruping and trilling until he got Relihn’s attention.  
  
Then the dragon floated back down to Raein. His and the jouster’s eyes met, and Raein almost faltered. What could he possibly do?  
  
But Relihn had held his gaze once, when his mind was far away. That, Raein could do in return. He smiled as best he could, and hoped it conveyed what he needed it to. This was not the dark place Relihn’s memory was pulling him into. This was now, and he still had time to write it.  
  
For a moment, Raein felt that miserable weight in the air lift. He felt Relihn’s fear subside, or relent, or something else that allowed him to push through like a warrior against the horde. Raein’s heart thudded fast in his chest as he watched Relihn take up his lance and keep fighting.  
  
He was fighting for Raein, he realized. Because Raein helped him remember he could.  
  
What was this feeling?  
  
Horse and jouster charged as one. The lance glinted in the midday light. Raein held his breath, and saw the draenei’s spear land first. He couldn’t stop himself, shrieking as Relihn was pulled from the saddle and launched across the arena. He hit the ground with a sickening crunch, and Raein’s hands covered all but his eyes; they stung with the tiniest pinpricks of shocked tears.  
  
Relihn had lost the duel. Laying shell shocked in the snow, he shoved approaching healers away, clearly more wounded in pride than body. The draenei’s ascension to Champion was met with the deafening roar of the Alliance, but all Raein could do was watch the fight drain from Relihn’s body.  
  
It was over. Without a place among the Argent Champions, the defeated would be sent back to wherever they came from; wherever they’d crawled out of looking for a chance at something better.  
  
A Crusader finally caught Raein’s eye. He approached Relihn, a stoic look on his face. Raein had watched it a few times already: Relihn’s lance and tabard would be revoked, and he’d be sent to collect his things. The Argent Tournament was going to be a darker and colder place.  
  
But Raein had a choice. And he’d never been more sure of anything.  
  
“Wait!”  
  
Both Relihn and the Crusader looked up at once, as Raein outright ducked under the railing and into the arena. Din’raal held his head high, wide-eyed and alert, as Raein fumbled in gasping breaths for the right words.  
  
“Wait,” he said again, “—that’s my Champion!”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Relihn balked.  
  
“Who are you?” the Crusader clinically asked.  
  
Raein breathed in, so sharp he felt it cutting at his lungs. He summoned every etiquette lesson to his mind. “Sir Relihn Undergallows is a Champion endorsed by House Embereye of Quel’Thalas. He serves my family, and he fights the Scourge onslaught in my name.  
  
“I, Raein’idal Embereye, have sworn him into the ranks of the Argent Champions—as is my right as an honored guest of Highlord Tirion Fordring.”  
  
He could feel Relihn’s eyes staring at him, though Raein dared not risk his resolve by chancing a glance. He instead held the Crusader’s gaze, terror rampaging through him, but not a hint of it showing on his face. His eyes were steeled and determined.  
  
He couldn’t do much. But Relihn had fought too hard to be sent away now. “Please return his tabard immediately.”  
  
The Crusader looked rather perplexed by the whole fiasco, but cautionary doubt won out in his expression. “Lord Embereye,” he slowly said. “While I would not question your word, it is my obligation to verify this claim with Grand Magistrix Embereye.”  
  
Panic bubbled in Raein’s chest. “Why?”  
  
“You are the Highlord’s guest _through_ Lady Embereye, milord. As per protocol, such claims must be made by the Grand Magistrix herself—“  
  
“You would do well not to waste my son’s time with protocol.”  
  
Raein’s spine went rigid to the sound of his mother’s voice. In almost the same moment, Al’ara graced past him, her fel-scarred eyes narrowed almost irritably on the Crusader, who nevertheless held his ground.  
  
“Grand Magistrix,” he greeted respectfully. “Your timing is impeccable. Please, if you have a written contract of Mr. Undergallows’ endorsement under House Embereye—“  
  
As he spoke, Raein’s heart plummeted to the pit of his chest. The bluff had been called, and it was all he could do to look mournfully at Relihn. He should have agreed to Al’ara’s proposal outright—the paperwork would have been done days ago, and Relihn could stay—  
  
“You are so very short-lived,” Al’ara droned, rolling her eyes as the comment struck the tiniest nerve in the human Crusader. “Do you really have time for such procedures? Nevertheless—“  
  
Raein paled as Al’ara produced from a pocket-sized portal a small stack of documents. They fell gracefully into her gloved hand, and she offered them with an _incredibly_ bored look to the Crusader.  
  
“—I have indulged your suffocating legislations. Read it in full, if you must, but the boy fights for me.”  
  
As the Crusader took and flipped through the documents, Raein chanced another glance at Relihn. The jouster stood shock still, eyes wide enough to roll out of his head. Raein fought back a reaction on his own face; he could explain himself soon.  
  
When the Crusader was satisfied, he returned the papers to Al’ara—and the tabard to a very dumbstruck Relihn. “Apologies. Any forces supplied by Silvermoon to bolster the fight are always welcome.”  
  
He clapped Relihn on the shoulder, who looked as if the contact could’ve shattered him. “Get that house crest on your mare though, won’t you? I’m not the only one you’ll confuse.”  
  
“—Right,” Relihn blurted. “Right, it’s uh. Dry cleaning.”  
  
The Crusader smiled and squinted at once, then patted him again and swept away, after a nodded bow toward Al’ara—though he was already out of sight and mind to her. Her eyes were instead trained on the jouster staring at his tabard.  
  
Raein felt like he could breathe at last. He hurried to Relihn, that earlier apology finally bleeding into his voice. “Sir Relihn, I am so terribly sorry—I panicked. I did not want to see them send you away!”  
  
He watched Relihn’s face flush red, and realized he may have misspoken. (Did he?) Raein cleared his throat and hurried on. “This is unprecedented, of course—and you are welcome to refuse if you wish. But I—“  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
He breathed it so quietly Raein almost missed it. The Embereye blinked, gracelessly taking his turn to be stunned. But he’d heard right; he knew by the way all of Relihn’s fear seemed to pour out of him and disappear in snow and soil.  
  
“Thank you,” he said again, clearer. “I, uh. I appreciate it.”  
  
“Humble,” Al’ara commented, startling Raein with a flinch in his shoulders. The woman tilted her head, eyeing Relihn. “A little ragged. This is your pet, Raein’idal?”  
  
Raein paled, mortified, the feeling not at all helped by the flare in Relihn’s nostrils. “He is very skilled—and I owe him my life. How did you accrue those documents?”  
  
“I knew you would agree,” Al’ara said, and it made Raein’s skin crawl. She _knew?_ “I had the work done that afternoon. You are indecisive, my sunshine, but fortunately you had me to take action on your behalf.”  
  
Something heavy knotted in the pit of Raein’s stomach. He felt sick, and didn’t quite understand why. He bowed his head. “Thank you. I am very grateful.”  
  
He felt the air shift, how it warmed a degree with Al’ara’s fleeting smile. Raein hoped he’d not break a sweat.  
  
“We resume your lessons in the morning,” his mother said, and he could _hear_ how pleased she was, even behind deceptively neutral words. “I will see you tonight.”  
  
“Yes, Mother,” Raein said. “Thank you.”  
  
With that, Al’ara turned and left, and for the first time since Relihn was thrown from the saddle in the arena, Raein felt like he could breathe. He allowed himself a few moments to steady, but when he turned, Relihn looked _skeptical_.  
  
“ _Pet?_ ” he quipped.  
  
The mortified feeling came right back. “It isn’t like that! I—my mother doesn’t, ah, always use the kindest words—I do not think of you in such a way, I do assure you—“  
  
The furrow in Relihn’s brow eased away, back to what Raein had come to know as his ‘neutral’ face, which was still quite scowly. “I believe you,” the jouster sighed at last. “You’re the weirdest rich person I’ve ever met.”  
  
It struck a familiar chord in Raein, who could only bow his head to hide it. “As I said, you do not have to accept—I just...”  
  
He didn’t want Relihn to leave. Raein realized he didn’t want it now, even were it Relihn’s own choice. His chest clenched, throat going dry. This was a _bad_ idea.  
  
“No—“ Relihn said. “—I... I needed the second chance. Thanks.”  
  
This was a _very bad idea_. Raein smiled politely, and it was not the least bit convincing. “If, ah, you have questions—I can walk you through this part. I have observed the process a few times already.”  
  
Relihn hesitated, though Raein couldn’t place why. “Sure,” he finally said. “Yeah, that’d be great.  
  
“I uh,” he continued, and stepped back. “I should go. Rest, I mean, that fight was—it took a lot out of me. Yeah.”  
  
Raein sensed something off about his words, but instead of call attention to it, he feared it was something he’d done. “Of course,” he said earnestly. “You have more than earned the respite. My family’s tent is among the Sunreavers’, when you’re ready.”  
  
“Sure. Thanks.”  
  
Raein nodded, deflating—and then startled back to attention. “Oh! I should not let you go without proof of your endorsement. Um...—“  
  
He patted around his person, ignorant to the sudden blush on Relihn’s face. Raein finally settled on a pin engraved with his house’s crest—a mana wyrm enveloped in fire.  
  
He held it out for Relihn. “Keep this for now,” he said. “I can have you equipped with something proper soon.”  
  
Relihn numbly took it, staring at it like he’d never seen gold before. “Uh. Thanks.”  
  
The uncertainty in Raein’s stomach wound tighter. With the sudden urge to flee, he bowed politely and muttered something about needing to speak with his mother about the whole thing.  
  
Instead, he moved toward his family’s tent only as long as Relihn remained in view—then veered and squished his back to a pillar. He slapped a hand flush to his chest, where he could feel the rampant thundering of his heartbeat even through his layers of clothing.  
  
His face burned, and his lungs tickled. He was equal parts delighted and mortified by the morning’s events.  
  
This was definitely his worst idea yet.

* * *

The trip back to Relihn’s tent was a blur. He barely remembered getting there, but it didn’t dampen the sheer relief of crashing into his bedroll and letting all of his strength bleed out of him.  
  
He laid face-down in the mat for quite some time. He was _exhausted_ , and his body ached and burned, and his mind reeled. It must’ve been an hour before he rolled onto his back, just to stare at the canvas ceiling with a mind as featureless as a blizzard; too blurry and racing to pick anything out of.  
  
He was in shock, first. To go from having his entire future wrenched out of his hands by another man’s lance, to the whirlwind rescue of a pretty blonde noble and the most poised speech Relihn had ever heard—  
  
And there, there was the fluster. Blondie, _Raein_ had come heroically into the scene, with a cadence Relihn had never heard before. Confident, strong—even a little... suave? Was that the word? Hot, dammit, it was hot.  
  
Oh, it made Relihn’s face burn all the way up his ears. He pulled a pillow over his head and groaned into it. Feelings SUCKED.  
  
Part of him knew he should decline. There was something there, something he wanted and something that was inspiring him to do crazier and crazier things by the day. If he let this go through, he knew he’d only get crazier, and he knew how incensed rich folks could get. One wrong word would land him in a scandal at best, and a cell or grave at worst. The bank he could make wasn’t worth the head on his shoulders.  
  
But _if_ he declined, he’d have to drag himself back to Quel’Danas. Back within reach of the Scryers...  
  
Relihn pulled the pillow away, huffing his mussed bangs off his forehead. This was a nightmare. It _had_ to be some Aldor-lookin’ motherfucker, didn’t it? _Anyone else_ he would’ve won. Anyone!  
  
Absentmindedly, he laid his hands over his stomach and massaged his sword wrist. His brain was too scrambled to notice, but the phantom pains hadn’t stopped. He had to make himself be brave and stretch his fingers, just to prove to his delusions that the bones were set and long-healed.  
  
When the pain at last dulled to a dismissible ache, Relihn plucked the golden pin from his pocket and held it up to the lamplight. It was expertly crafted, and probably worth more than Relihn’s tent and everything in it twofold. The metal shone with hints of red, resembling real flames that licked at the mana wyrm in the center.  
  
Belatedly, Relihn realized that was probably the work of an enchantment. “YEUGH!” He _chucked_ it like it was a spider on his hand, kicking away to one side of the tent as the pendant smacked the opposite wall and plopped to the floor.  
  
It took him a moment to remember to breathe. Groaning again, Relihn found a cloth he normally used to polish his sword, and VERY carefully wrapped the pin into it, making sure no part of it stuck out where it could do more magic tricks at him.  
  
He sat there, in the middle of his tent, and eventually unwrapped it again; though he dared not let metal touch skin. He stared at it, twisting it in the light to watch the weird fiery colors dance.  
  
Kinda like Blondie’s hair. Relihn smacked his forehead. “Get it together, Lin,” he chastised himself. “He’s _engaged_. And since when do you crush on _mages?_ ”  
  
It hurt to say out loud. His shoulders sagged, and his chest felt anchored by an unidentifiable weight.  
  
His brow furrowed. He rewrapped the pin and shoved it in his pocket, grabbing a winter cloak and his sword and marching back into the weather.  
  
No more feelings. He was going to get his money and run like hell. That was always the plan, and it needed to stay that way now more than ever.  
  
He marched for the Sunreavers’ tents, flashing the pendant at anyone who came too close. “I’m Embereye’s champion,” he gruffed to an especially-decorated mage. “I want to negotiate.”

* * *

“Raein’idal.”  
  
Hearing his fiancé’s voice startled him. Raein leapt to his feet the same moment his heart leapt in his chest, whirling with hopeful eyes. Daladris stood in the beaded doorway of their bedroom, a soft smile on his face. Raein knew it well.  
  
“Dala,” he answered, crossing the length of the room to him. Immediately, Daladris’ hands wove into his own, soft and warm and lovingly manicured. The contact made Raein’s fingertips sing, made colors dance in his heart—  
  
He had tried to explain such feelings, but people gave him looks, so he’d stopped years ago. Still, he couldn’t resist the happiness they invoked.  
  
“What is it, dear?” he asked, his attention finding Daladris’ face again.  
  
“I believe we are overdue for a dinner,” Daladris said, his smile turning wry. “A shame I cannot whisk you away to Dalaran tonight, but I hope something quaint and out of the snowfall will suffice.”  
  
Raein’s eyes lit up. “Tonight?”  
  
“Whenever else?”  
  
The singsong feeling in Raein’s fingers grew stronger, and it was all he could allow himself to do to squeeze Daladris’ hands. “I would like that so much,” he said, letting his relief pour into his voice. “I was—I was beginning to fear I was agitating you with all the requests for your company. I only miss you.”  
  
Daladris looked at their hands, still smiling, but he was thinking something Raein couldn’t figure out. His heart tightened, an anxious vice spreading like a weed in his chest—  
  
And then Daladris’ eyes were upon him again, and the feeling was gone. “You can be so needy, my love,” he said, and in any other moment it would hurt Raein’s feelings—but now, it just felt funny. “Have I not always made time for you?”  
  
Yes, Daladris always seemed to find a way. “The stress of this place must be getting to me,” Raein said, and tried to sigh away his worries. “Forgive me. I do not mean to crowd you.”  
  
Daladris only smiled, and it made Raein’s heart flutter. He felt dizzy. Daladris’ attention was as addictive as a drug—and Raein knew a lot about both.  
  
His fiancé kissed his fingers, and in that moment, the world was far away. He’d do anything to stay like that forever.  
  
But it was not meant to be. The entrance of the tent blew open in a flourish, and Raein’s ears twitched to the sound of a Sunreaver yelling.  
  
“Wipe your _boots!_ ” he said. “You’re tracking in the slush!”  
  
Drawn to the commotion, Raein slipped away and into the main room; excitement blossomed in his chest at the sight of a familiar jouster, still in his full armor—did he ever take it off? Not of his own volition, that Raein had seen.  
  
“Oh, good,” Daladris droned from within their room. “The mutt must be home.”  
  
“Sir Relihn!” Raein greeted, hurrying in to meet the knight—for that’s what he was now, as of the stroke of Al’ara’s pen. “Good evening! I am so glad you could make it—“  
  
“I want to get this deal set in stone,” Relihn said, more curt than Raein had ever heard him, and that was a feat in itself. The knight paused. “... Writing. Whatever. I want details, official ones.”  
  
“Of course,” Raein said after the startle passed. Was he mad? Was this the same uncomfortable air from earlier? Raein mustered his most polite posture. “Of course—I can do that.”  
  
“Love,” came Daladris’ purr, as he set his chin upon Raein’s shoulder from behind him. Between that and the way Relihn’s nostrils flared, Raein could feel the heat in his face. “Dinner?”  
  
“Oh, I—“ Raein had to bite down a breath. Oh no. “I’m sorry, dearest—“  
  
“Oh come.” Daladris reached out, a finger tracing Raein’s jaw and guiding his face to him. “Were you not just fussing about too much work happening around you?”  
  
Raein only looked apologetic. “Forgive me, but I—I did promise Sir Relihn I would be available today.”  
  
There was surprise in Daladris’ eyes, so brief Raein wasn’t sure he didn’t only imagine it. Then Daladris pulled away, cold, and a shiver hit Raein’s spine in the process.  
  
“Very well,” he said, light despite the reclusion. “Entertain your new plaything.”  
  
“Dala—“  
  
“No, I insist!” He turned to Raein with a smile that did not reach his eyes, and Raein felt his stomach drop. “It is good to see you taking more responsibility. I am certain Lady Embereye will be most proud.”  
  
Raein breathed a laugh, but something felt all wrong inside. Daladris bid an extravagant farewell and swept out of the tent; Raein barely heard him bark at a Sunreaver to clean up the tracked snow.  
  
It took him a moment to remember Relihn, snapping to attention with a fluster. But before he could speak, he instead caught Relihn’s eye, and that ‘something’ that ever seemed to simmer between them. Like an ember unseen amidst the kindling.  
  
The look was unlike anything Raein had been the focus on, at least to his memory. Soft, worried—warmth like the earth, and beautiful like it too.  
  
Raein’s breath caught in his throat. One stray spark, and they might go up in lights. For a moment, the thought thrilled him.  
  
And then the look was gone, buried away like the knight in his steel. Relihn leveled his shoulders and set his brow, and Raein felt a door shut between them. The coldness he was left in was aching.  
  
“Whatever you’re thinking of paying me, I want it doubled,” Relihn said, gruff and steady. Unwavering. A bulwark standing in a ring of fire. “I want the best smithing equipment you can get me for maintaining my gear. _No magic_. I want food for me and food for my horse, a tent that doesn’t let the wind in, friendly terms with Silvermoon, Dalaran and every Horde capital—  
  
“And I want your people to stop treating me like defective cattle.” The last note was a scalding one, and it left a sorry pang in Raein’s heart. “I’m not your _pet_ , I’m not your _plaything_ —I am a warrior and blacksmith and I don’t grovel or kiss rings.”  
  
This was not the same man Raein had met a handful of times in the last weeks. But he had seen the way people like him were treated by people like Raein. He could sense it, the lackluster magic signature in Relihn’s mana. He had no magic, or at least no biological means to use it.  
  
Raein was a failure because he had all the necessary pieces to conjure a spell—he just lacked the command and the control. But this warrior simply lacked those pieces to begin with.  
  
And knowing cities like Silvermoon—  
  
How scornfully those streets must have treated him. No wonder he didn’t want to go back, and no wonder he distrusted a family from it.  
  
Oh, Raein was a fool. But he was still sympathetic, and he still believed Relihn deserved another chance to get out of Silvermoon’s gutters and make a life for himself.  
  
They were not friends. Raein buried his feelings accordingly, setting his own expression. A knight and a noble. That’s all they were.  
  
“All of that can be arranged,” Raein said. “My family can pay you whatever you want. I can request for any equipment and any specifications therein. You are welcome to our personal chefs, our stables, a room here in our tent, and anything else you need.  
  
“I am indebted to you for saving my life,” he said. “I would not ask any specifications in return. However, my mother will expect a certain quality of performance in and out of the jousting arena. You represent her house now, and any unsightly behavior reflects badly on her.  
  
“Magistrix Embereye is a shrewd woman. She will expect excellence.”  
  
“Then that’s what she’ll get,” Relihn quipped, immediate, confident. Raein felt a smile flutter in the corners of his mouth. “I’ll make this whole damn tournament revere her if that’s what it takes.”  
  
And that was that. Yet behind a practiced face, Raein mourned the loss of that 'something'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> subtitle: it's all fun and games until your crush does you a really big favor and you have to hate him now


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back with a perfectly nice, calm, clearing-the-air chapter.

The following days were much the same. Relihn was as stone, impenetrable and impersonal. He tolerated the Embereye crest on his new cloak and Athala’s saddle blankets, in exchange for their equipment and resources.  
  
He kept to himself, making exceptional use of the Sunreavers’ private training ring. He and Athala worked tirelessly every day, as the Tournament settled into a lull before it would resume in full among the Champions who had fought or sold their way into the arena.  
  
Relihn grimaced at the thought, slashing a particularly harsh strike into his beaten target dummy. His sword was dusted in wood chips, a sweat dripping down his face even in the Icecrown arctic. His arm still hurt where his last opponent had ripped his gauntlet off, the pain felt there new and old, real and remembered. His sternum hurt like shit too.  
  
He shouted as he struck the dummy again, exhaustion setting in his arms as they buckled and the tip of his blade hit the snow. Relihn panted, glaring at the fraying dummy; it was past time to throw it out. Relihn heaved his sword with a pained growl and struck it again, splinters flying.  
  
Then his knees buckled too, and he crashed to a kneel as fatigue and bruises brought him down like chains. His hands trembled as they clutched the hilt of his speared-in-the-dirt sword, and his head hung between his shoulders.  
  
He stared at the snow underneath him, scattered by the hours-long motions of his feet. Little slivers of wood poked out of the frost in places, further testifying what a pulp Relihn had beaten the practice target to.  
  
But he had not won his way here. The fact burned hotter than any bruise in his gut; try as he might to tell himself it didn’t matter, that he only needed to get his money and run—  
  
It bothered him. It _haunted_ him. He was here only because some snobby aristocrats wanted to watch him fight more, wanted him to sweat and bleed for their pretty crest.  
  
Oh, it made him fuckin’ mad. Relihn grit his teeth and pulled himself up, resisting the weakness in his legs—  
  
And his eyes fell upon a ribbon of red scales. The small dragon froze in place, his snout pointed right at one of the larger hunks of dummy Relihn had taken off earlier; there was still a bit of cloth snared on it. It probably looked like a toy to the creature.  
  
Relihn’s scowl must have been frighteningly deepened by the ashy shadows on his face, because the lizard went scurrying back through the snow, winded through some fence posts, and spiraled up the legs and torso of—  
  
Fuck. How long had Blondie been watching him?  
  
Raein stood shock still, aware he’d been caught but clearly never quite intending to hide. He stood in plain sight—that is, plain if Relihn hadn’t been lost in a fog of thoughts—his eyes wide as Relihn’s bore sharply into him.  
  
He could tell the man was confused. The last few days, Relihn was suddenly cold and mean. But he had to be—too many distractions, too many silly maybes—  
  
“Here to make sure you got your money’s worth?” Relihn snapped, and regretted how it made Raein jump.  
  
He didn’t let it on though, hoisting his sword up and onto a steeled shoulder. Show-off. His mouth opened, and he began to say something he was sure had been snide and aloof—  
  
But then the world was rapidly twisting sideways, and the next thing he knew, Relihn was flat on the ground and staring up at the overcast sky. He blinked, aware minutes had past but unsure how many, and tried to sit up.  
  
A weight stopped him. Looking down at his chest, Relihn saw the same dragon pet, coiled like a snake upon his breastplate. It hissed at him!  
  
“Why you—“ Relihn hissed right back, trying to rise out of the snow—but his body fought against him. Pained and overworked, he cringed out through his teeth and fell prone again. “Augh, _fuck_.”  
  
When his eyes peeled open, the dragon just blepped out a long, mocking tongue. Little bastard.  
  
“Please slow down.”  
  
Maybe it should have been a given, that Raein had been right there to watch him faint. But Relihn still ruffled like a pissed off rooster, struggling a third time to get up. Like before, it was futile; he was so tired, in so much pain, and that dragon could be heavy when he wanted to be.  
  
Groaning but defeated, Relihn belatedly followed the gentle voice to its source. Raein’idal Embereye sat upon his knees in the snow next to him. The midday sky set a silvery halo around the edges of his form, drying Relihn’s mouth in an instant. It wasn’t _fair_ how pretty he was.  
  
And how that prettiness was warped with stress and worry. Relihn squirmed in his steel, as Raein began searching through his bag. “Just relax, please. You’ll over-strain your body.”  
  
“That’s how training works,” Relihn quipped back. “If it doesn’t hurt, you’re not pushing yourself hard enough.”  
  
“This is quite a ways past hurting,” Raein said, and despite Relihn’s efforts to repaint the man as just another dehumanizing rich kid, he looked so sad and concerned. “You won’t be able to fight like this.”  
  
“You don’t know me.”  
  
“I know bodies,” Raein said, and Relihn heard it—a spark of offense. “I know how they tell people things. I know you’re breaking yours.”  
  
Relihn wanted to fight, but that mixture of frustration and worry in Raein’s face finally dissuaded him. He tore his eyes away. Seconds passed in relative silence, save for the shift and rustle of Raein and his bag.  
  
“Here,” he finally said.  
  
Relihn reluctantly looked. Held out to him by a pale hand was a glass bottle, a goldish elixir thin as water within it. Relihn squinted. “Your apothecary keeps busy,” he said.  
  
Something weird flickered across Raein’s expression. He wiggled the bottle. “Take it. It will give your body some energy.”  
  
Relihn grumbled something unintelligible even to himself, but accepted the bottle. The dragon finally let him sit up to drink it, bounding victoriously into Raein’s lap with a job well done. He nuzzled and trilled into every scritchie Raein offered him.  
  
The potion’s effect was immediate: Relihn blinked rapidly, as he felt like he’d just successfully scored a five minute nap and some desperately needed energy. He looked at the empty vial, a little wide-eyed. Damn.  
  
“You do not have to do this,” Raein said, earning Relihn’s eye again. He still looked worried. “This training, this tournament... If money is all you need, I can have it ready for you by the day’s end.”  
  
Relihn, despite intentionally acting cold and aloof the last several days, found himself bewildered by the man’s attempts to help him. It took him a moment to remember that Raein _was_ nice, and that was the problem. Relihn didn’t _need_ more problems.  
  
Raein must have interpreted Relihn’s silence as an answer, as he began to stand. “I will collect the gold, if you would meet me at my family’s tent by—“  
  
“Wait, wait.” Relihn pinched the bridge of his nose, swearing internally. What was he doing! “Wait. I can’t—I can’t accept that.”  
  
Raein had stopped, dragon folded into his crossed arms as he stood, clearly confused. Relihn dragged himself to his feet, despite being a bit dizzy still, because looking up at the man felt so humiliating. He puffed as he found his balance, the breath coming out in a big, rolling ball of white.  
  
“I can’t just let you give me money,” he said, irritated, but he could tell by Raein’s face it sounded more inwardly directed than his other curt comments. “That’s not—that isn’t how I do things. Maybe that’s how it works in your world, but I need to—I have to earn it.”  
  
Raein was slow to reply, but he gently said, “You have earned it. By saving my life. By... being kind to me.”  
  
Oh. If that wasn’t just the saddest thing he’d ever said. Relihn felt his resolve to stay reclusive and out of the Feelings waning fast. He AHEHEHEMED manly—ly? Manlily. Shut up.  
  
“People like me don’t get paid for being nice,” he gruffed.  
  
“They should,” Raein said. “I have the opportunity to do that.”  
  
“You don’t _get it,_ I don’t—I don’t want _charity,_ okay?”  
  
He’d snapped, and Raein had gone quiet, shocked. Relihn didn’t know why it’d struck him so hard, but it did, and it wasn’t just a bratty rich kid being scorned. He’d hit a nerve. He’d hit it a few times, he realized too late.  
  
He whirled away, swiping a hand through his hair. Since when did rich kids have problems? He didn’t want to care. He should’ve taken the money.  
  
But he couldn’t. Maybe it was stupid, but—there was more at stake. He’d sold out. He wasn’t here because he deserved to be, and—dammit, that drove him _nuts_.  
  
“I gotta prove something,” he mustered, a mumble that tapered off as he realized he’d said it out loud. He swallowed. “People—Silvermoon hates you if you can’t do magic, okay? And fuck that, I don’t care—I know I’m better than that. But I—  
  
“I gotta prove it. To myself.” He sighed. “And if I just take your money, the next time shit gets hard I’ll just. Run.  
  
“And I’m so sick of run—“ As he turned back to Raein, the elf looked even worse than before. Staring at the snow, hugging a worried lizard snug to his chest.  
  
Relihn lost his train of thought. And he felt—bad. He felt stupid for feeling bad, but this wasn’t just some asshole balking at having his generosity snubbed. This blue-blooded anomaly of a person listened so hard to every word Relihn said.  
  
“I am trying to understand,” Raein quietly said, as if the admission was terrifying to him. He didn’t look up. “After your last duel, you looked... I wanted to help. I’d promised you I’d repay you for saving me.  
  
“You have been frustrated ever since, and I am trying, but I don’t understand.” The glance he braved at last made Relihn’s heart stop. He knew that look, that fear—  
  
He just didn’t want to be stupid. And fuck, dude, Relihn had been made to feel stupid and broken all his life too. He could understand that.  
  
He sighed. “No, you’re—thank you. Seriously. I’m not—I don’t do words good.” He paused, and groaned. “Case and point.  
  
“Shit’s weird right now,” he said, and regretted having no exposed pockets to shove his hands into. He crossed his arms tight across his breastplate instead. “And I’ve been treating you like—like I’d treat any rich asshole. But you don’t act like one.”  
  
Raein didn’t say anything. He still looked confused, but Relihn could feel how hard he was listening, how much he wanted it to make sense. How many people didn’t give him the patience to clarify? The thought stuck in Relihn’s head, recalling all the times Daladris had cut him off, how his mother had assumed his answer before he’d given one—  
  
Damn. Rich or poor, that sucked. “You haven’t done anything wrong. And—“ Relihn looked sharply away when he felt his face get a little hotter. “And I don’t feel right just taking your money. Maybe not your family’s or most rich snobs’—but you’re...  
  
“Fuck, you’re nice too, okay?” Relihn threw his hands up. Feelings were STUPID. “And you saved my skin back there. I don’t—I don’t wanna be the guy that just ran off with your charity. I want... I have to prove I can do this.”  
  
Slowly, Raein began to understand. He allowed himself to breathe, but it was the way his dragon went into a happy, weirdly dog-like panting gesture that told Relihn he was finally relaxing.  
  
“Then...” Raein bit his lip, but the gaze he cast at Relihn was a pleading one. It made his heart do more feelings. “—and I know I said I had no specifications per your endorsement—but may I please ask you don’t hurt yourself, Sir Relihn?”  
  
Oh. Shit, he really was just nice. Relihn grumbled out an agreement, embarrassed. But Raein lit up with relief, and Relihn realized just how _hard_ it was to pretend to hate him.  
  
Oh, he was in it now. But right then... He was just glad Raein didn’t look so sorry anymore.  
  
“Are you feeling better?” Raein asked, worry sneaking back into his face.  
  
“Huh. Huh?”  
  
“You are dissociating.”  
  
“I’m—I’m not dissociating.”  
  
“You are becoming unaware of your surroundings. That is dissociation.”  
  
“What are you, a doctor?”  
  
Relihn regretted the remark immediately, seeing Raein’s eyes go wide; expecting it to strike that same nerve all his other quips had. To his surprise though, Raein pursed his lips in surprise, brows high. Relihn was... starting to realize it was his equivalent to smiling. It was cute.  
  
And it told Relihn everything. “You wanna be a doctor, huh?” he teased, grinning and never noticing it. “I know that look—that’s the glint I got in my eye when my dad told me I was gonna make my first dagger.”  
  
“I—“ Raein stammered, embarrassed, but the happy look on his face shone brightly, so Relihn wasn’t about to relent. “I am studying magefire.”  
  
“So you can cauterize big wounds, huh,” Relihn said. “That’s tough but fair.”  
  
“No!” Raein shrieked; the hint of laughter was music to Relihn’s ears.  
  
“Uh-huh. I’m onto you, Blondie.”  
  
“You are onto nothing, Sir Relihn!”  
  
“I am on _top_ of it.”  
  
“On top of _what?_ ”  
  
Relihn’s mouth shut. There was no mistake: Raein meant it exactly as risquely as Relihn heard it. The fact was as obvious as their faces were red.  
  
Raein coughed and looked away. “Forgive me, that was—“  
  
“Funny.”  
  
“—Pardon?”  
  
“You’re funny, Blondie.”  
  
Raein stared at him, so Relihn just shrugged. He earned that cute little laugh for it. And you know what? Fuck it. Today was a good day.  
  
“Speaking of doctors,” Relihn continued, in part just to spare Raein’s pride. “Tell your alchemist he makes a mean painkiller.”  
  
He wiggled the empty potion vial at Raein, who blinked at it. Something warm glowed in his face, and it was Relihn’s turn not to understand.  
  
“He will be so pleased,” Raein said, and then he smiled with his mouth, like he’d told a joke.  
  
It was one Relihn didn’t get, but it was... Raein was sweet. And fuck, maybe Relihn just needed a little sweet in his life.

* * *

As far as Relihn could tell, Raein didn’t have a lot of responsibilities. (He had a growing theory it was more like Raein wasn’t _trusted_ with responsibilities, but the train of thought always led to some overbearing anger. Relihn could be... protective, at the best of times. And Blondie seemed to be under fire most days.) He was almost always around the Sunreavers’ portion of the Tournament Grounds, often stopping by during Relihn’s training sessions with potions or just to watch.  
  
Slowly, and against his better judgment, Relihn had allowed it to become a little bit routine. In the late morning, he would be out swinging his sword at a target dummy, or exercising Athala and freshening up on his lancing skills. Raein would arrive within the first hour or two, and he’d usually linger after whatever excuse he’d worked up to stop by in the first place.  
  
And Relihn knew they were excuses. “I kind of thought the drawback of being filthy rich was supposed to be you were always super busy making nice with all the other rich people?” he’d asked the other day.  
  
“Oh,” Raein said. He’d grown comfortable enough in Relihn’s presence to do things like lean on the bannister and fidget with his fingers. “No, that’s more of Dala’s and my mother’s thing. I’m... I don’t offer much. I just focus on my studies.”  
  
Relihn hadn’t liked the answer. The closer he and Raein got, the more he didn’t like about a lot of Raein’s answers. “Where is that... guy, anyway?”  
  
“Dala?” Raein asked, receiving an affirming grunt. “He is most likely helping my mother orchestrate Sunreaver missions here in Icecrown.”  
  
“You don’t get a say?”  
  
“I am not a tactician. My input would not be valuable.”  
  
See? Every other answer validated Relihn’s feelings a little bit more. Raein was rich, but he was _different._ The people in his life knew it and spurned him for it.  
  
“That’s crazy,” Relihn said.  
  
“Oh no, it makes sense,” Raein said, and he sounded so sure. “I’m not good at it.”  
  
“You can’t get better if they don’t let you practice,” Relihn said. “My dad let me watch him make swords for years, even though I couldn’t do it myself yet. You’ve gotta, like, be able to practice. See it in motion. Trial and error, y’know?”  
  
It had tripped Raein up. After struggling to articulate and answer, he’d simply repeated, “It’s fine. I’m not good at it anyway.”  
  
Relihn still asked sometimes. It just didn’t sit right in his chest. Raein was weird—like, he could be _really_ weird—  
  
But he was kind, and he cared about the people around him so much. He didn’t hold grudges or get mad about mistakes. The way he baby-talked his pet dragon was the cutest shit ever.  
  
And he was smart, in his own ways. The number of times he’d understood Relihn, despite the words he’d produced making no sense whatsoever—it was like Raein had told him once. He understood bodies. Relihn didn’t have to be eloquent, because Raein could figure a lot of what he meant out just by how he moved, how he looked and sounded.  
  
It was impressive, okay? Even if his family didn’t seem to think so. Rich people, in Relihn’s experience, didn’t know real value when they saw it. As loath as he was to pity a guy born into the luckiest financial situation imaginable... He felt bad for Raein.  
  
And he felt something else too, something he had a strong hunch about, and _god damn_ did he not care for it. They could be friends, he’d allowed, but that was it! No fucking up this opportunity with a bunch of tangled, messy, fuzzy feelings.  
  
And no messing up this friendship either. They were rare for Relihn in general, and this one was...  
  
He speared the dummy, then glanced toward the edge of the training ring for the tenth time in as many minutes. But no sign of Blondie today.  
  
Maybe it was Relihn’s paranoia—oh, scratch that, Relihn was _always_ paranoid—but something felt amiss. The routine they’d fostered wasn’t, like, an official thing. But it was kinda their thing. Relihn liked it. Raein did too—or he’d thought so. Was he sick of listening to fencing lectures? Or Relihn’s repeated attempts to make him question people he knew a lot better and for a lot longer?  
  
Relihn’s ears pinned back. Oh. Yeah, indignant good intentions aside, that could get really grating after a while. Maybe Raein skipped out on purpose. Maybe Relihn had chased off a potential friend? It wouldn’t be the first time. Or the dozenth.  
  
He whapped his cold gauntlet across his face a few times. Stop spiraling! There are a billion reasons he might not have shown up, and they weren’t all sad and self-depreciating.  
  
He tried, again, to go back to training. But the glances at the cold and empty bannister grew more frequent, and try as he might, Relihn couldn’t convince himself it was a fluke. But he also wasn’t completely sure it was a rejection, as much as he feared the possibility.  
  
Because if there was one thing he’d learned from all those conversations, it was that Raein was a people pleaser. He wouldn’t ghost, not if it was solely for the sake of his personal comfort. Something had to be preventing him from showing.  
  
And, as previously addressed, Relihn could be overprotective. He put his lance away, collected his sack of things from the corner of the training ring, and set out back toward the Sunreaver tents. He didn’t know how to ask any of the magi around where Raein was, so he resigned to aimless wandering, hoping one circle or another would lead him to the young Embereye.  
  
Instead, it led him to something terrifying. During a brisk search around the trafficked road outside the main Sunreaver establishment, Relihn heard what was undoubtedly a roaring explosion. The force of its sound nearly sent him dropping to the ground, knees halfway to buckling out of a perceived line of fire.  
  
He whirled, and felt his stomach drop. A pillar of brilliant, red fire blazed into the sky, like a geyser of pure flame. It was _unnatural,_ which Relihn immediately knew meant it was _magic._  
  
Every reflex in him wanted to run. Even as the magi around him didn’t so much as falter, all Relihn could think about was how much he wanted to run away.  
  
But something glinted in his memory. An idea, a dozen stray comments gathered like dust under a stray chair. Relihn’s feet at last moved, but not away. He followed the sight of the pillar, skirting around obstacles until he uncovered a field of open snow, stretching for tens of yards—  
  
In the middle, though, the snow was gone. The grass beneath was dry and scorched. Two figures stood in the ring of melted frost: One was a woman Relihn hadn’t seen since the day she materialized with his saving grace. She stood profile to him, each of her arms extended, as the pillar of fire gushed and blazed just inches from her back.  
  
The other figure was Raein.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh right, and the fire.


	7. Chapter 7

Relihn had no goddamn idea what was going on. Forgetting even his own theory, he swore and ducked into the side of the Sunreaver tent, hidden from the sights of two magi who definitely hadn’t noticed him in the first place. He gasped and wheezed, his flight reflex still pulling him in half.  
  
But he didn’t run away. He braved to peek out around the tent, back into the ring the two magi stood upon. The fire had ceased gushing, at least; now it simply burned like a bonfire, draping its masterful caster in its heat and light. Al’ara Embereye stood perfectly calm, unscathed—but there was something in her eyes Relihn hadn’t seen that day. Back then, she was bored, maybe a little inconvenienced.  
  
Now? She was angry. Fed up. She was on the brink of something far worse than a scary lightshow.  
  
And, as Relihn’s eyes darted to Al’ara’s target—for it was irrefutably Raein she meant to intimidate with the cosmic display—he saw a lot of things. Fear, fucking obviously, but also guilt and shame and endless apology.  
  
And then Relihn wasn’t scared. No, he was goddamn furious.  
  
Al’ara’s arms fell to her sides, and in the same breath, the fires dissipated. Even without the hot roar consuming the field, Relihn couldn’t make out whatever she said. But it must have been a dismissal, for Raein bowed at her and then scurried away.  
  
In Relihn’s direction. Fuck!  
  
He scrambled back to the road out front, eyes darting for something inconspicuous to do. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” hissed under every breath, until he could hear the crunch of snow boots behind him and had to make a decision.  
  
He threw up an arm and leaned on a lantern post by his forearm, staring at the sky. He saw the blur of blonde out the bottom of his peripheral, and opened his mouth to say something Ultra Casual from his Equally Super Casual pose—  
  
But Raein kept moving, not so much as glancing up. Relihn wasn’t even sure he’d noticed him, not through the fog of absolute disgust that shadowed his hurried, lopsided walk through the Grounds. He vanished as quick as he’d appeared, into the ‘commons’ of the Grounds where people like him weren’t generally seen—and, Relihn realized, therefore not looked for.  
  
It sat all kinds of wrong in his gut. His anxiety over being spurned was forgotten, as he stood in his indecision about whether or not to follow. It didn’t take long to make a choice though. Relihn wasn’t a smart guy, but he could piece together what’d happened out there.  
  
So he followed, quickly relocating Raein as he disappeared behind the stands of one of the empty jousting arenas. Relihn just saw him navigate awkward supports and stray debris, before losing sight of him when he presumably hunkered down and went still.  
  
There, Relihn slowed to a halt, debating with himself. Surely the man sought his solitude because he meant it. What was any of that about, anyway? Who summons a shit-lot of fire to scare their own son into doing—what? Chores?  
  
“Sir Relihn—“  
  
“Gah!” Relihn gasped, and immediately felt stupid. Green eyes watched him from between the benches. “Uh—hey, Blondie. I was just, you know, going for a run.”  
  
“In full armor?”  
  
“Wh—I mean yeah—yeah, I gotta be able to run in it, right?”  
  
Relihn could feel the doubt in the air. He sighed gruffly and sprawled on one of the benches, talking to the sky. He didn’t want to give Blondie away.  
  
“Okay, I followed you,” he said. “You looked... upset. In a hurry.”  
  
“I...” Raein struggled to find the words. “I needed a break.”  
  
“Yeah, I think I would too.”  
  
“You saw it, then.”  
  
“Kinda.” Relihn shifted, never quite getting comfortable.  
  
They sat in silence for a few moments. He heard Raein move, but didn’t react to spare his secrecy. Not at least until Raein’s voice was closer—like, at ear level.  
  
“You can come back here,” he said. “If you want to.”  
  
Relihn could only nod, something about the whole thing embarrassing him. He routed around and ducked into the stands, crouching below benches and finally joining Raein in a sit between wooden seats and the decorated Argent tarp behind them.  
  
It was a little snug. Relihn shifted a few times, trying to stave off claustrophobia. Raein curled back into his coats, knees pulled to his chest and arms wrapped low around his legs. Despite so many layers, he looked so small.  
  
So Relihn sat with him a while, unsure of what to say. What did you say, when your mother _and_ your fiancé were a couple of assholes? Relihn didn’t have either one, and his dad was the sweetest (if laziest) son of a bitch on the planet.  
  
Relihn blew a raspberry through his lips, bangs flying off his forehead and falling back in a pile as messy as the last one. “So.”  
  
Raein was slow to respond. “So?”  
  
“Shit-ass weather we’re having.”  
  
He felt Raein go stiff next to him, in that way only eloquent nobles hearing swear words did, and couldn’t resist a stupid little smile as he caught the slip of a laugh. “It is pretty awful,” Raein agreed. “I can’t seem to adjust to how cold it is. Is that why you always wear all that?”  
  
“Wear what.”  
  
“The armor.” Raein snickered like it was obvious. Relihn supposed it should have been. “The only time I’ve seen you without it was that night in the medical tents.”  
  
“Oh. Yeah, I guess.” Relihn looked out between the benches, thinking. “Old habit.”  
  
He heard Raein shift, and when he glanced toward the sound, there was a curious stare cast back at him. “Habit? You were a soldier, then?”  
  
“Scryers,” Relihn gruffed. His eyes locked right back onto the misty weather outside their little hideaway. “It’s a long and bad story. Basically all I had to do after Quel’Danas fell.”  
  
Raein shrunk back, and Relihn’s attention once again darted to him. He’d curled back up as he’d been before. “I’m sorry. That must not be pleasant to think about.”  
  
“It’s whatever,” Relihn said with a hint of caution. He slowly relaxed, leaning back against one of the posts supporting the whole structure of stands. “Behind me now. Don’t plan on looking back either.”  
  
“You are... trying to escape an old life?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess. Escape, move on, something like that.”  
  
“Do you really think you can?”  
  
Relihn’s eyes widened, an offended look shot Raein’s way—but the moment Raein reeled, he realized he’d misinterpreted the intent of the question.  
  
“Sorry,” Raein was already blurting out. “I didn’t mean it that way.”  
  
“I know,” Relihn said. He sighed, embarrassed, and relaxed back against the post. “I can,” he belatedly answered. “I know I can. I just gotta find the right way out.”  
  
He could feel Raein’s eyes on him again, but the stare was a fragile and unsure one. So Relihn didn’t look, and pretended he didn’t know.  
  
“What if you fail?” Raein slowly asked. “What if something works, until it doesn’t?”  
  
Oh, Relihn wanted to dig into this bad. He sighed away the urge, stretching an arm across a bent knee, his hand dangling freely in the air, or gesturing lazily as he spoke. “Then I guess I’m back to square one,” he said. “Just means I gotta try again.”  
  
“Is that what you’d have done if my mother hadn’t endorsed you?”  
  
“Hey—“ Relihn’s nose wrinkled, but he tried to keep his voice down. “I know you’re not trying to, but this is all a little prying, okay?”  
  
“Of course,” Raein said, recoiling, but not as harshly as before. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay. I just had to let you know.”  
  
He relaxed a smidgeon, and Relihn internally sighed with relief. He was learning! God dammit, he was a rough and rugged guy, but he’d learn how not to be another loud and scary force in this man’s life yet!  
  
—Wait, fuck, how long did he expect to _stay_ in Raein’s life? He _didn't_. Get it together, Undergallows!  
  
“May I ask,” Raein spoke again, mercifully drawing Relihn out of his thoughts. When he looked, the Embereye was staring out at nothing in particular. “... what you would recommend for someone who is trying to move on?”  
  
Relihn wasn’t sure how to answer. Move on from what? This gilded cage of his, or the freedom of little moments like hiding under a bunch of benches? Depending on the reason, he had different answers.  
  
... But it wasn’t up to him to decide Raein’s life for him. After all, his family seemed to be doing plenty of that. Relihn sighed, and followed suit in staring at nothing. “Just... Keep an eye out for what you want,” he mustered. “I don’t know—don’t settle, I guess? Even if you don’t know how to start. Just keep looking for an opening.”  
  
“Like in combat?”  
  
The question shocked Relihn, because it called back to all those fencing lectures he’d been having anxiety about all morning. It shocked him, and then he felt strangely warm about it. Happy? He probably shouldn’t have been getting too happy about anything pertaining to Raein Embereye, but. Dammit. The guy was sad. Relihn could afford to lighten the mood.  
  
“Yeah, like—“ He sat forward and toward Raein, hands splayed as he began to talk animatedly.  
  
His explanation dove headlong into the metaphor of a swordfight, sometimes detouring through a jousting context because the latter was more familiar to Raein. A rambling example of the thing tethering you to an unsatisfying life, seemingly impenetrable—but once you study it long enough, you can find its weaknesses, where it exposes itself, where it falters. And you figure out how to strike in that precise time and place, and if you do it just right, you can turn the tide of the whole battle. You can win with a single moment.  
  
It took him far too long to notice the way Raein was listening to him. He had turned himself, hugging his legs tightly as if they were the stand-in for every word of Relihn’s that he hung off of. His eyes were wide and bright with attention, inspiration slowly blotting out despair. He looked like he wanted to, and did believe every word.  
  
It had Relihn fumbling over a metaphor he’d previously been quite confident about. “—So uh, see, that’s how you—you know, uh—fuck, sorry, I’m sorta hungry after practice today—“  
  
“Practice!” Raein gasped ruefully. His hands clapped over his mouth and nose. “I disappeared on you without a word! I am so sorry, my lessons were—they ran so late, and my mother was getting so frustrated—“  
  
“ _Those_ were your lessons?” Relihn balked. “The—the fire and shit?”  
  
“My lineage is one of arcane fire,” Raein explained, and Relihn had a ‘doh!’ moment about the name Embereye. Raein shrunk, hands rising to hug his arms. “... but I cannot wield it as my predecessors do. I have tried all my life—there is nothing wrong with me, I just... It will not answer my command.”  
  
Relihn couldn’t help it. “So she threatened you?”  
  
Worryingly, Raein was not _surprised_ by the question. He gently shook his head. “She was demonstrating.”  
  
“You _ran away_.”  
  
“I—“ Raein faltered, and Relihn knew he had it right. “I hate disappointing her.”  
  
Relihn almost spoke, then shut his mouth. His eyes drifted to the stray snow between them, as quiet settled around them. Raein sank further into himself, and Relihn’s heart twisted with the dread of a mistake.  
  
“You mentioned you were hungry,” Raein muttered, so soft and small. “You don’t have to worry about me. You should eat. Here—“  
  
He pulled out a coin purse, and held a dizzying amount of gold out to Relihn, as if it were his spare change. Relihn could only dumbly accept it, a little stunned at how easily Raein parted with it. His fingers closed around the gold, but his chest still ached.  
  
Until he relented to himself. He stood as high as he could below the benches, and as Raein began to curl up again, Relihn held out his empty hand. It earned Raein’s eye, surprised, blinking at the open palm.  
  
“Can I buy you lunch?” Relihn said, and felt so fucking nerdy for it—  
  
But Raein looked right at him, blinked some more, and then glowed with that smile that showed in his eyes and nowhere else. It set Relihn’s whole face ablaze. He was... really pretty. Beautiful.  
  
He took Relihn’s hand, the touch enough to snap him out of his daze and pull the shorter elf to his feet. The benches hovered too close to their heads, and at the same time, they stood too close to each other.  
  
Relihn’s heart thundered in his chest. They stared at each other, confused but aware, curious but reluctant. It would be so easy to lean just a little bit lower, to steal the briefest taste of this soft and sad and beautiful mage. Relihn wanted to, so much so he only had the strength to resist; not recoil.  
  
And worse, Raein didn’t recoil either. He stood still, too close, staring into Relihn’s face like it was the only thing in the world worth looking at. Their hands remained twined, and Relihn rued how perfectly they seemed to fit together. Could Raein feel it too? How easy it was to just get lost in each other’s company? How content they were to never untangle from one another’s presence?  
  
His fingers shifted, and the coins therein fell free, clinking together in the snow. It snapped both of them out of the daze, as Relihn dove to retrieve them, and Raein—  
  
Raein skirted past him, hurrying out into the open, like the claustrophobic space was finally getting to him too. Relihn swore under his breath, scrambling to pile snow and coins into his hands and chase after him.  
  
“Hey,” he puffed. “Hey, sorry, that was—“  
  
As if he’d forgotten Relihn was there, Raein startled with a whirl. A lot of things struck Relihn’s attention at once: the way Raein clutched the hand Relihn had just held, his eyes wide with a hundred whirling thoughts Relihn couldn’t begin to unravel.  
  
He looked like he could flee at any moment, and Relihn feared he’d crossed more than a line. “Sorry,” he said again. “Uh, bad joke. You know, ‘cause, you just gave me the gold, and then I was offering to—yeah, uh, it was terrib—“  
  
“Funny,” Raein rasped.  
  
Relihn’s mouth shut, staring like a deer back at Raein. He shifted awkwardly in his expensive layers, eyes diverting to the snow. But he looked—better. More color back in his face.  
  
“It was funny,” he said. When Relihn still couldn’t muster a response, Raein braved to meet his eye again. “I would like to.”  
  
Relihn stared. “Get... lunch?”  
  
“Be friends.”  
  
Oh. It should have been an obvious progression between them—hadn’t Relihn used the word privately before? But this was out loud, and it was someone else saying it, and—  
  
Fuck, man, being a magicless elf made you lonely. Nobody _wanted_ to be your friend. Nobody _liked_ the thought of it.  
  
But Raein was weird. Raein was nice.  
  
“And friends can get lunch,” Raein continued, eyes diverting again, then cautiously focusing once more. “Right?”  
  
There was something there. “—Right,” Relihn stammered out, and promptly cleared his throat. “Right, sure they can. If they want to. And you...?”  
  
“I want to,” Raein replied, but he said it carefully, like there was a risk he could say it wrong—or say something else.  
  
It made Relihn a little dizzy, not gonna lie. It was painful and thrilling and just a little bit nice.  
  
When his eyes recentered on Raein though, he was smiling. Just a little, but it was with his mouth, and Relihn was starting to think that might be special. Or maybe the feelings were getting to him. Maybe he didn’t care too much right then.  
  
“So...” Raein trailed, hopeful.  
  
Relihn cleared his throat again. “So what are we waiting for?” he said, grasping at his usual stoic confidence, but it evaded him like a teasing wingman. “I’m starving.”  
  
And Raein did that soft and polite laugh, and Relihn felt fuzzy the whole walk to the food stalls.

* * *

It was a sight to behold, Raein was sure. There he sat, in a wobbly wooden chair, dressed head to toe in the finest silks and jewels money could buy; failing to eat his elaborate and hot soup as he instead watched the rugged man of worn old armor go to fucking town on some chicken thighs.  
  
The encroaching afternoon had blessed the Grounds with a little bit of sunshine. It sprinkled across the open space of chairs and tables, where mostly jousters and commoners hung out and ate. Indeed, Raein stuck out like a sore, heavily-bejeweled thumb. But most people recognized the crest pinned to his chest or embroidered into Relihn’s cloak. They looked odd together, but the sight of the Embereye crest linked them to one another.  
  
He really was going at those legs. “Did you skip breakfast?” Raein couldn’t help but ask, more amused than anything. You didn’t see people eating that passionately where he came from!  
  
“Huh?” Relihn blurted, then swallowed. “Oh, yeah, ‘course.”  
  
Raein faltered. “Of course?”  
  
“Food’s expensive out here.” Relihn paused to bite off and swallow another hunk of his lunch, and inadvertently gave Raein a moment to digest the concept too. “Might as well cost an arm and a leg for the prices they charge. Fuckin’ vultures.”  
  
“—You skipped breakfast,” Raein repeated.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
It dawned. “You _skip_ breakfast.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Relihn said it like it was a given, but in a world like Raein’s, it was unthinkable. He realized, first, how _privileged_ that sounded—and then he just felt a curl of fire in his gut. Why _shouldn't_ it be a privilege to eat? For _everyone?_  
  
He dove his hands into his bag, and heard Relihn stop eating. “Blondie?”  
  
Raein fished out the very same coin purse from earlier, but this time, he dropped the whole bag on Relihn’s side of the table. “Will this cover three meals a day?” Raein asked, his fire whirling with urgency.  
  
“It—fucks’ sakes, Blondie, it’ll cover the week. _longer_ , if I try—“  
  
“Don’t try. I will bring you more.”  
  
“What did I say about charity—?!”  
  
“This is not charity!” Raein startled himself with his own voice. Relihn too, it seemed. Did he just _yell?_ “—You deserve to eat. You _need_ to eat. I had no idea it was so unattainable.”  
  
Relihn laughed, sudden and to Raein’s alarm. Was it funny? Not eating didn’t seem funny to— “How much do you think a banana costs?” Relihn asked him.  
  
“What?” Raein blurted back, but Relihn waved his hand, insisting. Raein sat back. “I—I don’t know. Seven gold?”  
  
“Holy shit.”  
  
“Ten?”  
  
“ _Holy shit!_ ” Relihn barked, hitting the table with his open palm. It took Raein a second to realize he was still laughing. “That’s fucking horrible!” he cackled. He rubbed the heel of a palm under his eye, as if he were tearing up.  
  
Raein was still confused, but he couldn’t hold back a little laugh himself. “I don’t understand why this is funny.”  
  
“It’s—I mean, it’s _not_ funny, I just can’t believe you really don’t know how much stuff costs. That’s so—fuck, Blondie.”  
  
Relihn snickered and wheezed a while longer, until he was finally recovered enough to resume his lunch. He turned the coin purse around in his hand while he ate. Thinking, though Raein couldn’t imagine what about.  
  
“Thanks,” Relihn said at last. “If I’d known you’d enable me, I’d have told you I skip breakfasts sooner.”  
  
“You should have!” Raein quipped, but somehow it was all still just... endearing. Fun. “Sun above, Sir Relihn, we have a banquet every morning! Why’ve you not—“  
  
But Raein stopped himself, watching something different dig into Relihn’s face. His eyes stayed on the coin purse, until he suddenly put it down and diverted the subject. “Must’ve slipped my mind.”  
  
No. That wasn’t it—Raein knew it wasn’t. “Sir Relihn?”  
  
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about—“  
  
“Are the Sunreavers still treating you inappropriately?”  
  
Raein realized the question was out of left field, because Relihn’s attention shot to him, surprised and confused. Raein felt similarly, to be honest—but once the idea was in his head, it just...  
  
It upset him. A lot of things did, when they involved Relihn and somebody treating him poorly. Relihn was brave, and gentle, and he had been there for things Raein used to just not have anyone there for. Since when did anyone run after him, whenever he fled into the snow to escape the bright and loud world of an aristocrat?  
  
Raein swallowed, and leaned a little toward the table. His hands had closed to trembling fists. “Sir Relihn, if they’re dissuading you from the benefits your endorsement promised you—“  
  
“It’s not like that,” Relihn said, surprisingly... soft. Raein didn’t know what to make of the answer, and the knight noticed. He looked away again, out at the distant sea that rolled far below the Icecrown crags. “... It’s magic.”  
  
Raein blinked. “Pardon?”  
  
“The food is magic,” Relihn bit out, in what Raein recoiled from and then realized was not anger, but anxiety. “I don’t eat that stuff.”  
  
Oh. Raein suddenly felt silly, sitting back against his chair. He caught his hands fidgeting with each other and shoved them under the table. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s perfectly reasonable. Please, then, let me make sure your meals are covered.”  
  
Relihn removed a single coin from the purse, flipping it back and forth with a thumb. His brow furrowed and he bit it.  
  
It was—understandable. Maybe another habit? But it made the corners of Raein’s mouth tense with half a smile. It was cute. Relihn was cute, and Raein knew that he should be worried—  
  
But Relihn made him feel happy. He made him feel acknowledged. He just made him _feel_.  
  
And try as he might, Raein couldn’t resist it.  
  
Relihn watched him, but with something other than suspicion or hesitation. Raein sensed curiosity, and normally going noticed terrified him. But Relihn made him feel... comfortable, too. He made Raein feel a lot of things.  
  
And then he heard glass shatter behind him. Raein screeched, ducking under his own arms as he barely registered Relihn shooting to his feet. Within a moment, the warrior had put himself between Raein and the commotion. He looked up at last, saw a night elf just as she was tackled in the midsection by an orc. The two brawlers went crashing through a table, splinters flying; the night elf flexed her fingers and commanded the shards to pivot like blades. At the same time, the orc drew upon the snow around her, blocking the wooden stakes with a wall of water that halted and suspended them.  
  
A wild display of magic, as foreign words shot like bullets between them. Many patrons moved back from the fight, but Raein saw a human and a troll push in. He saw more people start to gather, screaming about who was at fault; tauren against dwarves, draenei against sin’dorei—  
  
A conflict of factions. “Come on,” Raein heard, barely recognized it as Relihn’s voice.  
  
When he felt the knight’s hand touch his shoulder, Raein dove for the contact, arms wrapping immediately to Relihn’s. He hauled Raein up, kept the young Embereye a pace ahead of him, so that at every moment the fight would remain on the other side of Relihn from him. His heart pounded so fast, glancing at Crusaders rushing in to break it up. Relihn guided him away from the noise, out to the edge of the Grounds.  
  
Raein hadn’t ever come this far from the Sunreaver tents, even with escorts. “Where are we going?”  
  
Relihn only answered with a grunt, but Raein caught his eye and realized this was not a man calmly doing a job. There was only terror in his face, the grip he held on Raein’s coats like iron. He didn’t even look like he was breathing.  
  
He led Raein farther, where the snow and earth began to climb. Up on the canyon that barricaded the Tournament from the rest of Icecrown, Raein finally saw it: a tent, pitiful, shaking in the arctic winds. Relihn led them up a series of natural steps he’d obviously memorized, until they were standing in bounds of the mediocre campsite. Raein could pick out a fire-pit, cooking pot, and an odd construction of stones he couldn’t identify the purpose of.  
  
Then Relihn’s hand moved to the nape of Raein’s neck, forcing him to duck into the tent. It was small, and barely much warmer than outside. The moment Relihn finished pinning the canvas entrance shut, he collapsed into a lone, weathered bedroll and threw an arm over his face.  
  
Raein, still whirling on the inside, awkwardly shuffled to one corner of the tent and sat down. Inside was more stuff: a large, rectangular chest with a lock on it, a sack of something soft, like clothes or trash, and some supplies for upkeeping weapons and armor.  
  
Aside from the whistle of wind outside, all was quiet. Raein sat still, and as politely as the space allowed him to.  
  
Finally, Relihn stirred with a heavy inhale. He rubbed a hand down his face. “Fuck. Sorry,” he said.  
  
“No, I—“ Memory of the fight crashed back to his mind, and Raein shuddered. “—I’m glad to be out of there.”  
  
“Tuh. Yeah. Fuckin’ faction brawls.”  
  
The comment caught Raein off-guard. “You dislike them?”  
  
“Of course I—“ Relihn stopped. His eyes darted to Raein, a different kind of anxiety in his face now. He sat up. “I mean, the _Alliance,_ totally. Scumbags.”  
  
Inappropriately, Raein cracked up. But Relihn still looked nervous, so he bit it back. “I don’t care for the faction conflict either,” he offered, and watched the way Relihn immediately relaxed. “We have... so many bigger problems since the Dark Portal opened.”  
  
“Like the fuckin’ Scourge,” Relihn gruffed.  
  
“Like the Scourge,” Raein agreed.  
  
Quiet fell again, but it felt calmer this time. Almost welcome. A soft understanding settled around them, as Relihn busied himself unfastening and unsheathing his sword. It was the first time Raein had seen it outside of training sessions and that time Relihn came to his rescue—and, he realized, it was absolutely stunning. The blade was of no metal he recognized, translucent and even crystalline. It radiated with the smallest traces of magic—not enchanted, but infused somehow. It was beautiful.  
  
He watched, fascinated, as Relihn pulled out a cloth, polish and a very specifically shaped—rock? He laid the sword across his armored lap, and began grinding the stone against the blade’s edge. Sharpening it, Raein figured out, and even felt clever for it.  
  
“You do it by hand,” he remarked, earning a wary look from Relihn. “No magic? That must be a lot of work.”  
  
The warrior must have caught the admiration in Raein’s voice; he relaxed and focused back on his task. “Passes the time,” he gruffed. “Keeps me a little warmer.”  
  
Raein pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin upon them, watching Relihn work. He didn’t know the first thing about blacksmithing, but as he watched, he started to pick out how it was methodical in a way it hadn’t initially looked. Relihn’s angling and pace with the grindstone was precise; Raein could see the tiniest shifts in his eyes, as he saw things Raein couldn’t even guess what might be. He knew this sword very well. He read it like Raein read bodies.  
  
The sound wasn’t the most pleasant, but Raein found it a suitable white noise to block out the whistle of the wind or the whirl of his thoughts. They didn’t talk again, and didn’t have to. Relihn worked on his sword, and Raein closed his eyes, and slowly, his turbulent day faded out of mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pop quiz time: which is burning more slowly, the romance or the plot
> 
> key: it's my fic i get to decide how many adhd whims get turned into fully written scenes


	8. Chapter 8

A long and hectic day had seen Relihn deep into the catharsis of mending his sword. His one and most prized possession, a pinnacle to his achievements in weapon-forging. He could kiss this goddamn sword. He probably had before. It was his masterpiece and his baby.  
  
He barely felt the hours roll by. He sharpened and polished the blade back to pristine condition, testing its edge on his fingertip—you know, like a dumbfuck—and grinning through a hiss at the satisfying sting it left. Fuck he loved that sword.  
  
It was only when he looked up and noticed how dark the tent had gotten that Relihn realized the hour. Simultaneously, he remembered ferrying a frightful noble away from a brawl. Raein had been so quiet! Was he truly too meek to even ask for a light?  
  
“Shit, sorry Blondie,” he said, fumbling in the dark in search of his lantern. “I’m not used to having—“  
  
The tiny firelight sprung to life, soaking the whole tent in a warm, yellow glow. Relihn looked up, and he did see Raein now, but not as he’d expected to. The man had settled onto his side, and shed a couple of coats to bundle under his head like a pillow.  
  
And he was asleep. Totally passed out; Relihn could suddenly hear the deep, smooth breaths that rolled in and out of his lungs. The rest of his thought died in his mouth, or was perhaps burned away by a hot flush across his face. Uselessly, he stared and noticed everything, from the soft, worry-less expression on Raein’s face to the way his hair had semi-unwound, spilling around his face and shoulders like liquid gold.  
  
Mother goddamn _fuck_ he was gorgeous. It took Relihn a few more moments of being uselessly gay before he realized some of that hair was sticking to Raein’s mouth, and getting drooled and snored on. And, in true, in-way-too-deep fashion, it just made Relihn blush harder.  
  
He saw his hand moving, and stopped it in midair, as if to retract it. But he slowly let it go, let the other one unbuckle and remove his gauntlet, let his bared fingers hook the edge of blonde locks and brush a cheekbone in the process. Relihn’s heart pounded in his ears, his fingertips hot like the firelight in the lantern wherever they touched Raein’s pale skin. A little tiny part of him knew he was going to get his hand cut off if anyone found out, but every time he asked himself if it was worth the risk—  
  
It was. It so was. The ache in Relihn’s chest was almost unbearable, how quickly and helplessly he’d fallen for a pretty face and a sweet heart so far out of his league. As if a man as fortuitous and engaged as Raein’idal Embereye would ever humor giving his hand to a paranoid bastard like Relihn. Even just for a moment, just to let Relihn hold it.  
  
The locks of hair were safely tucked behind an ear, and feeling suddenly cold, Relihn withdrew his hand. That was, of course, when he noticed the blood his fingers had smeared on Raein’s face.  
  
“ _Shi_ —“ Relihn bit his tongue, his face contorting like he’d just sneezed with his mouth closed.  
  
Scrambling as quietly as he could, he rifled through his things for a cloth _not_ stained in grease or polish, dampened it in a bit of water from a flask, and _gently_ dabbed Raein’s cheek. Of course he flinched in his sleep, because the water was _cold,_ but Relihn still leapt back like he’d just been snapped with teeth at.  
  
“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes darting; he held the wet cloth over the tiny lantern fire. “Warm up, warm up—“  
  
It was, needless to say, the stupidest fiasco ever. Especially when Raein murmured something in his sleep, raised a sleeve to his damp cheek, and rubbed the blood away into a red sleeve where he’d never notice it. Relihn puffed out the biggest, heaviest breath of the day, slumping back into his bedroll. He felt like he’d run a mile from mana wyrms.  
  
Yet he, apparently, was not the only one feeling cold. Raein’s jewelry clinked and chattered, and Relihn looked to see him shivering. It was adorable, and a little tragic. He really _couldn't_ take the cold, huh?  
  
Snorting, Relihn gently tossed a blanket over him, and then his old winter cloak over himself. The _non_ -embroidered one. He didn’t have the heart or mind to wake Raein and make him march through the snow again. Would his family be weird about it? Maybe. But Relihn was more worried about those stupid faction skirmishes, and about them both getting some sleep. He’d come to understand that wasn’t going to happen in that gilded cage of a Sunreaver tent.  
  
So he let Raein sleep, and just the presence of another heartbeat across the tent made Relihn relax more than he had in weeks. Sometimes it was nice having company.

* * *

It had been a long time since Raein woke on his own terms. He was vaguely aware of the fact, when he recognized consciousness had not come from a servant or alarm or even Din’raal. It was really nice. He blinked a couple times, then let his eyes close again. Maybe he had woken too early? That just meant he had more time to sleep.  
  
But he lacked the warmth of Din’raal’s coiling body in his side or around his legs, and his eyes soon opened again. That was when he recognized the canvas walls as distinctly not his, and panic shot through him like a bullet. He bolted to a sit, knocking a blanket off his body and half an inner coat off his arm. It took his memory a few moments to catch up.  
  
Relihn was nowhere to be seen, which Raein almost thought lucky, even if there was an unwelcome little pang of loss in his chest. He collected his things, and somewhere in the middle he heard clinking metal and smelled sizzling food. It took a few passes of the sound before Raein registered it. Shrugging into his coat, he poked his head out of the tent and immediately spotted eggs frying over the campfire. His stomach growled, bitterly reminding him he’d not eaten since half of a soup at lunch yesterday.  
  
He looked up farther, and finally spotted Relihn. The stacks of purposefully arranged stones were around him, one at about hip level, and the other taller. Relihn was using a—hammer?—to the former, producing the clanking sound. Raein could see little sparks dart off and fizzle away in the snow.  
  
It all made him curious, and a little confused. “Sir Relihn?”  
  
Relihn’s head shot over his shoulder, ears pinned high. “Fuck, you sleep like a rock, dude,” he said, teasing, and faced the mage. His gauntlets had been set aside, replaced with thick working gloves. “Was I supposed to wake you?”  
  
“No,” Raein said, uncertain. He looked at the eggs. “I thought you didn’t eat breakfast.”  
  
“Don’t,” Relihn said, and pointed a finger up higher on the crags. “Unless I find big-ass blizzard bird eggs. Then I eat like royalty.”  
  
Raein blinked at him, and suddenly laughed. Grinning, Relihn shrugged off the gloves, exposing dark and calloused and scarred hands. Raein found himself staring, reading the history they held in their marks and blemishes. A soldier, a blacksmith—and the hands to prove it.  
  
He didn’t quite realize how long he’d been watching them until the frying pan hissed, as Relihn dumped the eggs therein onto a couple of little wooden plates. He offered one to Raein. “Hungry?”  
  
Humiliatingly, Raein’s stomach immediately growled. Relihn’s face lit up with wild delight, and possibly just got brighter watching Raein’s cheeks flush with color. He waggled the plate a little closer.  
  
“Eat,” he gruffed, friendly in his own calloused way. “Don’t think the Sunreavers would be too happy if you came back hungry.”  
  
“Right,” Raein mustered, face still hot enough to fry its own egg. He reached to accept the plate, and then froze.  
  
Dawning struck him like a bolt. The Sunreavers! Daladris! _His mother!_ “What time is it?” he rasped, gripped in a sudden vice of terror.  
  
Relihn’s friendliness fell away. “Huh? Like, ten in the—“  
  
“Ten?!” Raein choked. “Oh, forgive me, I have to go— _right now_ —“  
  
“Hey—“ Relihn called, as Raein was already whirling away.  
  
His eyes darted around the camp, struggling to pick out which way was the Tournament Grounds; it was foggier than yesterday. But Raein vaguely remembered which way they’d scaled the crags from, and shrugged his coat snugger around himself, making haste that way.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep, I’m so late for my lessons, I—“  
  
He took maybe two steps down the cliff face, and the snowy stones shifted out from under his foot. Raein’s heart leapt into his throat, muffling a scream as he felt his entire body pulled in by the force of gravity—  
  
And then a counter-pull. A grip on his arm, sure as iron; it hauled him up and around, another clamping on his waist, as his whole front collided into a plated chest and steadfast hold. Raein breathed out a little whine, his body resettling as the whole moment caught up to him.  
  
He looked up. Relihn was there, closer than ever—than under the benches or hiding from the Scourge—and staring back at him. Wide-eyed, Raein could see something like the fear that had seized Relihn yesterday. He could feel a frantic pulse all the way through his breastplate, and Raein realized his own heart had calmed, like it always did when the knight appeared in his times of need—  
  
He should have pulled away, but he didn’t. “I...”  
  
“I’ll take you back,” Relihn said, surprisingly quiet. Gentle. “Just—don’t do that shit again, okay? Fuck.”  
  
Raein’s mouth went dry, and so did anything he’d hoped to say. It took them too long to untangle from one another, and Relihn had to brave the process; Raein couldn’t find it in him to let him go, to relinquish that calm and safe embrace. A lot of things ran through his head, too many confusing feelings—no, not confusing. But not allowed.  
  
Relihn glanced away, and Raein’s eyes automatically followed. His offered egg had fallen sunny-side down in the snow, and thorns snared Raein’s lungs at the sight.  
  
“Here, you can have mine,” Relihn said, fetching the other plate by the fire. “You gotta eat something before I trust you on the—“  
  
He stopped talking. Raein was sure it’s because he saw the tears welling fast in his eyes.  
  
“—Okay,” Relihn blurted. He set the plate right back down, hands reaching to hover at Raein. “Whoa, okay, did I say something shitty? I swear that’s just what my voice sounds like—“  
  
Raein hiccupped, and Relihn shut his mouth instantly. His hands, even held in midair, were steadier than the full-body tremble that had seized Raein. He breathed again, lungs shaking, and clasped his hands over his nose.  
  
“Blondie??”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Raein croaked. “I—I was trying to—I messed it up—“  
  
Something dawned on Relihn’s face. Raein saw it just before he shut his eyes, leaning into his hands as he bit back a wave of sobs. Don’t cry! Don’t cry!  
  
“Hey,” he heard Relihn say, so softly. “Hey, hey, hey—you didn’t do anything, it’s okay—“  
  
“I scared you,” Raein wept, his voice hissing through restrained breaths. “I tried to handle it and made you fix it—and I ruined your food, and I—I’m so sorry, I tried—I’m trying—“  
  
It was, of course, a lot more than dropped eggs and slippery slopes. The fire was in his eyes, in his mind; it blazed behind Relihn just like it had his mother yesterday. He was frustratingly incompetent, from his mistakes to his ineptitude, and he wanted nothing more than for the fire to just swallow him whole.  
  
He saw, barely, Relihn’s arms move outward, and fear clenched Raein’s chest, his stomach. He felt like he could throw up, just for a second, as those arms rose and the fire burned behind them—  
  
And then there was just coolness. A comforting chill and a feather-light embrace, snapping Raein’s eyes wide and his breaths still. He could feel Relihn all around him, from the chestplate he was gently pulled into to the bare, calloused hands at his back. He felt so small. It made it so easy to hide there.  
  
Relihn didn’t say anything, or maybe didn’t know what to say. He just held on, lightly; so that Raein could escape if he so chose? He wasn’t sure. But he didn’t want to, and Relihn must’ve realized it as Raein finally disintegrated, leaning fully into the hug, hiding away as Relihn’s arms wrapped snug around him. He couldn’t fight it anymore, tears soaking his face and sobs racking his ribs. Relihn adjusted more and more, tucking Raein’s head against him, perching his chin upon his sleep-mussed hair.  
  
And just like before, he wouldn’t be the one to pull away. He couldn’t. He suddenly didn’t want to be eaten away at by the fire; he just wanted to stay here. He gave himself excuses, told himself how he couldn’t possibly show his face to his mother while crying like this. He told himself whatever it took to let himself stay.  
  
“Hey,” finally came Relihn’s voice again, just a little hush over Raein’s head. It made him shiver. “Hey. It’s okay, all right?”  
  
Raein breathed, steadier than before, if still miserable. He finally wiggled his arms free, only to wrap them around Relihn in turn. The knight tensed, but he didn’t pull away. Raein didn’t know how long they stayed like that, and didn’t care. For once, nothing mattered.  
  
When they did at last part, he felt calmer. He rubbed his eyes on his sleeve, and sighed. When he looked up, Relihn was offering the remaining fried egg again.  
  
“Eat,” he said. “Please?”  
  
Raein paused, and then nodded. They sat by the fire, Raein slow to eat, but feeling better with every bite. He was _so_ hungry.  
  
“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Relihn offered awkwardly. “Or—make you feel stupid, or whatever. Those crags are just real slippery. I know the way down, so I can show you.”  
  
Raein nodded again. He could tell, in the quiet, that Relihn knew there was more to this than spilled eggs.  
  
“... You don’t have to go back yet,” he said. “If you don’t want to.”  
  
Raein _didn't_ want to. But he shook his head. “I feel much better,” he said.  
  
Relihn deflated, and didn’t argue. Raein finished eating, and tested his balance. Stable. Prepared for the scoldings he was about to face. He sighed. “Can you show me the way down now?”  
  
Relihn did. They took it slow, but with Relihn’s guidance, Raein never slipped once. Soon, they were on solid ground, and only the blankets of snow stood between them and the Tournament Grounds.  
  
Raein desperately wanted to thank him, but he didn’t know how. Not without admitting how much was wrong. So he just followed the knight’s lead closely, until the edges of the Grounds began to peel through the fog. Raein shuddered, and he felt Relihn hovering. Worrying? He didn’t want to be presumptuous, even after the weird morning. But the possibility made it easier for Raein to breathe.  
  
And then it all went to hell. “RAEIN’IDAL!”  
  
Like a spear of ice, Daladris’ voice cut through Raein’s heart. His eyes darted to the man instantly, rapidly closing in from the direction of the Sunreaver tents. He looked terrified, and on the brink of relief—  
  
And then he saw Relihn, and he looked furious. “ _You_.”  
  
Relihn must have known it immediately. Almost brattily, he raised his hands. “Yeah, yeah, you’re welc—“  
  
Daladris threw a punch, and Relihn ducked out of its way like he’d been practicing, but Raein still shrieked a little. “Dala!”  
  
A lot happened in the time it took Raein to do so. Daladris stumbled, Relihn’s hands closed around his coats with a vein-raising grip so unlike the one he’d caught Raein with earlier, and the two of them were close to screaming at each other.  
  
Daladris, of course, was screaming first. “I should have you _skinned_ for—“  
  
“Keeping your little mageling out of the crossfire?” Relihn snarled right over him.  
  
“— _abducting_ the son and heir of—“  
  
“Stop it!” Raein yelled, the words cutting his throat. “Sir Relihn, please—let him go! At once!”  
  
Relihn didn’t at first. He glared into Daladris’ eyes with a hatred Raein dreaded would turn violent, and then released him with a harsh shove. Daladris staggered again, puffing and straightening his coats. Raein ran to him, laying his hands over his fiancé’s.  
  
“Please, Dala, it’s all right,” he begged. “He just wanted to help—“  
  
“Help?!” Daladris barked. “Perhaps he might _help_ by keeping his disgusting little hands off you—“  
  
“Whose hands are little?” Relihn QUIPPED. “Yours? Mine are bigger than yours, dumbfuck—“  
  
“ _Silence_ , you wretched cockroach! _One word_ to the Grand Magistrix and I can have you—“  
  
“Right, ‘cause your hands are too little to fight your own—“  
  
“ _Stop!_ ” Raein shrieked. “Please! Dala, I can explain, just—“  
  
“Did he hurt you?” Daladris demanded, yet his attention never shifted back to Raein. Like he wasn’t even there. “If I find a scratch on him—“  
  
“I didn’t _hurt_ him,” Relihn snapped back, and Raein felt the tension surging again. “He needed a _break_.”  
  
“What is that supposed to mean?! ” Daladris balked. "You think you have any right to distract him?”  
  
“That crazy witch lit a huge ass fire at him! You think that’s _okay?_ ”  
  
“I think the Grand Magistrix knows more about Raein’idal’s fire than a defective roach like you ever can!”  
  
“Dala!” Raein pleaded.  
  
But Relihn was already brattily retorting, “ _You_ ’ _re_ defective!”  
  
He sensed an error immediately. Raein saw it in his face, as the mage’s own twisted with needle-sharp dread. Daladris went quiet, unnaturally still. Relihn’s brow furrowed, confused and still simmering.  
  
“Dala, my love,” Raein softly said, laying his hands upon the man’s arm. He felt Relihn watch, even more lost. “He didn’t mean—“  
  
Daladris shoved Raein away, a lash of strength and wrath. The force shocked him so suddenly he fell backwards, hitting the snow with a yelp.  
  
“Hey!” he heard Relihn bark, the knight angry all over again. “What the hell’s your—“  
  
Daladris drew closer to the knight, eyes flaring with the lingering force of the fel that coursed in every sin’dorei’s veins. Raein blinked back stars, the back of his head blooming with pain. He saw Daladris encroach, and panic overtook his senses.  
  
“Dala!” he cried, scrambling to his feet; he gasped pitifully when his knee smarted. “Dala, wait, it was an accident—”  
  
Relihn backed up, but only a pace or two; enough time to draw his sword. It was spiraling so fast, Raein couldn’t think. He pushed through the pain in his leg, the fog in his head, and reached after Daladris as the man pulled a one-handed sword of his own.  
  
He just wanted to stop him. He just didn’t want them to hurt each other. He reached, cried out; his fingers splayed and his chest burned with the scream.  
  
And then there was light. Hot, red. A flame shot out, streaked across Daladris’ cheek. He shrieked, doubling to hold his face as his sword dropped out of his grip. Hissing, he pulled his hand back and found it bloody, flakes of skin scorched off and stuck to his fingertips.  
  
The fire in Raein’s chest was gone. In its place was a fear colder than the arctic around them all. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe as Daladris whirled on him; as that wrath pinned Raein where he stood.  
  
He honestly thought Daladris would kill him. It was a suffocating, nauseating thought—this man that loved him, taking up that blade and slitting Raein’s throat with it. But he believed it, as Daladris took one step closer.  
  
But only one. If he were to take another, he would skewer himself on the crystalline blade suddenly held between them. Raein wheezed, his lungs begging for the breath, and registered Relihn in front of him, his sword pointed at Daladris.  
  
It felt like everything froze that way. The next thing Raein knew, there was a slow, applauding clap. He was the last to look toward the sound.  
  
There was his mother, her steps striding in time with the thud, thud, thud of her gloved hands. Her eyes were calm, unyielding, but Raein saw a light in them so very rare. She was impressed. She was proud—of _him_.  
  
“When I agreed to let you keep a plaything,” Al’ara said, her voice even as ever, as if a fight was not on the brink of breaking out in front of her. “—I had not expected him, of all things, to light the spark.”  
  
Raein felt faint again. “I...”  
  
Al’ara waved her hand. “Put down your weapon, Undergallows.”  
  
Relihn’s nostrils flared, but slowly, the blade came away from Daladris’ chest. His fiancé looked as numb as Raein felt.  
  
Al’ara stopped, becoming the peak of a triangle stance between herself, Daladris, and the knight that still stood like a bulwark in front of Raein. She looked across the scene, at Daladris’ scorched cheek and Relihn’s brick-wall posture.  
  
And she grinned. Raein swallowed a gag reflex. “I see some adjustments are in order.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ELMO HELLFIRE.gif*


End file.
